


where you can't follow

by Atherys



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen, Post-Pacifist Route, general warning for hints at the general chara stuff!! so child abuse self harm suicidal ideation, take your codependent body-sharing children and split. them. up., the ethics of accidental time travel, we're probably not gonna dwell on it so just hints
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-31
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:47:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atherys/pseuds/Atherys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Perfect-Pacifist ending, when Frisk (& Chara) are all settled into their new life living on the surface, Chara dreams of their old family.</p>
<p>They don't quite wake up like they're supposed to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. waking dreams

 

For some reason Frisk is entirely oblivious - or willfully ignorant - to the glory that is chocolate milk. None of your many attempts to convert them has succeeded so far, but you solemnly refuse to give up. As long as they’re soft enough to make Toriel buy it for them anyways just so you’ll be able to drink it from time to time there’s still hope. This is one battle you will _definitely_ win.

You’re right in the middle of one such attempt to make them see the light when there’s a wrenching feeling in your chest and you’re torn away, Toriel’s kitchen flickering into nothingness only to be replaced by… Toriel’s kitchen. Toriel and _Asgore’s_ kitchen.

You’re perched on one of the chairs, sitting much straighter than Frisk ever does, surrounded by your family. Asgore and Toriel are smiling at each other, and Asriel - Asriel is smiling at you. Oh. A dream, then.

The dreams you have of Home are simultaneously the best and the worst dreams you ever have. On some days it just hurts, being reminded of what you’ve lost, what you’ll never have again, but on others… it’s nice. To be back. Even if it’s only imaginary.

You always wake up feeling strange and lost, and Frisk has learnt to recognise the feeling well enough not to ask you when you’re quiet all morning.

For now, though, you resolve to make the most of it. You sit through the dinner, not talking much, but soaking up the atmosphere, the feeling. It’s nice to see Asgore and Toriel get along so well. And Asriel…

As much as it hurts, it’s nice to see Asriel. Full stop.

When dinner is finished and your parents have started to clean up, Asriel grabs your hand and starts pulling you away from the table, but he stops when you dig your heels in and don’t move.

“Toriel?” you say, realising belatedly that this is a dream, she won’t mind if you call her ‘mom’.

“Yes, my child?”

“...could you read to us?” It is, in a sense, a silly thing to waste a dream for. You should go with Asriel, play with him, since you can’t do that for real anymore, but. You’ve missed this. You’ve missed them talking to _you_.

“Would you not rather play outside until it is bedtime?”

“Not really,” you say.

“Traitor,” Asriel mutters, but his grip of your hand is still warm and steady, so you step on his foot in retaliation.

“Chara,” Toriel admonishes. You try to look repentant. Probably you don’t do it very well. “What would you like to hear?”

You prod Asriel towards the bookshelf. “You pick.”

He takes approximately three seconds to pull a book out and shove it into Toriel’s hands. She gives it a sceptical glance. You snort when you see the title.

“Again, ‘Ree? Really?” you tease. He rolls his eyes at you.

“You like it just as much as I do, Chara.”

He has a point.

You’re still going to tease him about it.

You pull him down to the floor in front of her chair, scuttling closer to the fire which crackles and warms but does not burn. He pushes close to you and you lean against him.

Toriel isn’t even trying to hide her smile. “Well, if you are both certain…”

She opens the book and begins reading. You let yourself drift.

\----

When Asgore comes back you’re halfway asleep, draped across Asriel. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders. It’s nice.

“It grieves me to interrupt you,” Asgore says, “But I find myself in need of company. It has been very lonely ever since my wife cruelly abandoned me to the dangers of clean-up duty.”

Toriel muffles a laugh. “Oh, come here, you,” she says with a warm smile, and pulls Asgore in to nuzzle his nose.

“Moooom,” Asriel whines, covering his eyes with his paws. You hide your smile behind your palms.

“Hush, son,” Asgore says. “A master must hone his craft!”

It startles a giggle out of you, immediately followed by a yawn.

“Sounds like it’s off to bed with you two,” Toriel says. Asriel mumbles a few token protests but he follows you up from the floor.

Before you leave you seize the chance to wrap your arms around Toriel. “Thanks, mom,” you tell her, squeezing her tightly.

“Anytime, my child,” she says, gentle as always, but when you pull away she looks baffled, which really strikes you as quite unfair. She never looks surprised when Frisk hugs her. Or calls her mom - well, not after that first time, at least.

Asgore picks Asriel up, cradling him in one arm. He reaches the other out to you. Had this been real you would’ve just taken his hand, but now you grab it, scramble up to cling to him just like Asriel, smiling when his chest rumbles with his laugh.

He tucks you both into bed, pulling the blankets up around you and ruffling your hair before he turns out the light bids you goodnight. You hear Asriel twisting and turning on the other side of the room.

You want to cross the room to his bed, your heart is aching with the need to be close to him, but you don’t want to push your luck. Maybe if you try to squeeze out more happiness than you’ve already been given the dream will crack or morph into a nightmare. You have enough of those without courting them.

So instead you try to make yourself comfortable, burritoing yourself with the blankets, try to hold this feeling in your heart, so you can remember it when you wake up. Maybe then it won’t hurt as much.

“Goodnight, Chara,” Asriel whispers. You’re silent a moment before answering, because it feels like this is it, this is the signal to call you back to the real world again, and you don’t really want to go. You want to stay.

“...goodnight, Asriel,” you tell him, turn over so you can’t see him anymore, and try to sleep.

\--------

You wake up still feeling more content than lost. Good. A quick squint reveals the room is bright. Probably you should get out of bed.

But the blanket is soft and you are so warm and comfortable. Getting up now would be a _crime_ , so instead, you burrow in deeper under the blankets, and push your face into the pillow, stifling a yawn.

Wait.

You frown, hands twitching, and twist your fingers into the sheets. Your body obediently follows suit, copying your movements with no noticeable delay.

What?

 _Frisk?_ you think, thoughts still a bit sluggish from how sleepy you are. _You awake?_

The lack of response pushes you quite a bit further from sleep mode.

This is… strange. It’s not like it’s been _long_ since you were in control of the body - you and Frisk tend to switch it up pretty regularly these days - but in general it’s sort of… theirs by default? It has to be a deliberate change: you taking control, or Frisk giving it up.

It’s been a long time since you last took control.

You’ve never _woken up_ having their body before.

You hear heavy footsteps approaching the room, and suddenly you’re wide awake.

 _Frisk?? C’mon, wake up. Toriel’s here to get you, come_ **_on, Frisk_ ** _-_ but there’s no reply, and the footsteps keep getting closer.

In a fit of desperation, you try to relinquish control again, let go off their body and let your consciousness go back to sleeping, or floating in that strange mindspace of almost-real you’re always in when Frisk has control, but-

-you can’t do it. No matter how much you squeeze your eyes shut and try to will yourself away you don’t go anywhere, because there’s nowhere to go, there’s- there’s no one to give control back _to_.

You can’t breathe. Frisk isn’t responding and you can’t breathe. The air is too heavy in your lungs, and they’re _your_ lungs now, and god, how long has it been since you had nowhere to run, since there’s been no one to snap you out of it? You can’t leave the body. You can’t _leave._

The door creaks open and you cover up a flinch, try to relax your shoulders and breathe normally again. _We’re sleeping_ , you think, wishing with every inch of your being that Toriel will just go without waking you up. Shit, today isn’t a school day, right? Maybe you can pretend to be ill and she’ll just let you stay in bed all day, no social interaction necessary. You need time, you need to figure out what’s going on, you need to get Frisk back before anyone notices they’re gone. _We’re sleeping, let us keep sleeping just a little while longer, please._

Inhale. Exhale. Everything will be okay.

“Awww, really? You’re _still_ sleeping?” comes the voice from the door as its owner bounds across the room. You freeze, breath catching in your throat again as your eyes fly wide open. _What._

The bed dips down behind you and your body rolls over onto its back until you’re staring at him, feeling too much to put into words. Your mind blanks out completely.

“C’ _mon_ , Chara, it’s time to get up,” he says, and your body croaks out a response almost entirely without your permission, you can’t stop it, just as you can’t stop your heart from beating ridiculously fast in your chest.

“Asriel?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this will either end up being entirely centered around chara's emotional state and the situation they're in, or it will end up growing a plot and being around three thousand chapters longer than i have anticipated. we'll see.  
> ((summary &title are probably both subject to change, seeing as it's 2am and i conveniently forgot fics need to have those before i had to post it. as you do.))  
> comments = endless love, come talk to me on tumblr (same username there) about these children. i'm in a constant state of crying over chara and i need to know that others share my pain.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk has an unpleasant experience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sorry if any potential subscribers (??? do i have those) got an email for this twice! something got weird the first time i uploaded it but the chapter is the same. sorry sorry) 
> 
> listen: you all made my week. you're amazing and i love each and every one of you.  
> we'll be alternating frisk & chara for this! maybe not _every_ other chapter, but close. 
> 
> Actual Plot is expected to show up, like... two chapters from now. maybe three. first: a lot of Coping.

 

You’re sitting at the breakfast table when Chara disappears. 

You’re kicking your feet under the table, idly swinging them back and forth, and making what you hope is appropriate breakfast conversation with Toriel. Mainly you’re just humming a lot in what is  _ probably _ the right places. You’re not really paying attention. Chara is being distracting.  

“Would you prefer the chocolate milk or the regular milk today, my child?” she asks. 

_ Chocolate,  _ Chara says. 

You try not to roll your eyes.  _ It’s my turn today,  _ you tell them,  _ so, no.  _

_ Come on Frisk,  _ they wheedle,  _ Just this once. I’ll do your English homework for you.  _

You pretend to consider it, then send them the general feeling of a shrug.  _ Nope.  _

“Regular, please,” you tell Toriel. Chara groans.  _ Traitor. You are, by far, the worst person I’ve ever had to share a body with. I swear I’ll talk through all your lessons, just you wait.  _

You hide your smile behind your spoon. They wouldn’t, and both of you know it. Number one perk of sharing a body: if either of you gets in trouble, both of you have to make up for it, and if you miss out on information in school you’ll have to spend  _ twice _ as long reading at home. Which might be fun if it wasn’t  _ school _ books. 

You’re pretty confident they wouldn’t deliberately get you in trouble even if you weren’t sharing a body anyways. It’s been a long time since they were anything other than helpful. 

Toriel hands you the milk. You smile brightly at her and wait placidly for Chara to lose patience and start nagging you again. It only takes them about thirty seconds. 

_I just don’t_ ** _understand_** _,_ they say, _chocolate is_ ** _amazing,_** _everything that tastes of chocolate is amazing, ergo, chocolate milk is also amazing. It’s the food of gods, Frisk. How can you just_ ** _not_** **_like it_** _???_

_ It’s too sweet,  _ you say serenely and start pouring it into your bowl. 

_ Too sweet?  _ Chara says disbelievingly.  _ Frisk.  _ **_Frisk._ ** _ Listen-  _

-and then they’re gone. There’s no warning, no gradual fade-away, just their voice cutting off mid-sentence, and a sudden silence. 

Your smile freezes on your face.  _ Chara…?  _ They’ve stopped talking to you for seemingly no reason several times in the past, when something reminds them of things they’d rather not think about, or when you’ve inadvertently pissed them off, but it hasn’t been like this. This is different. You can’t  _ feel _ them. There’s always a corner of your mind that isn’t your own, a presence that over time has grown to be comforting, but now when you send a probing thought their way there’s nothing there. It’s empty. 

_ Chara this isn’t funny  _

They don’t reply, of course they don’t, they wouldn’t do this to you on purpose. 

Black spots are dancing before your eyes and there’s a strange whooshing sound in your ears. You feel dizzy. You feel- you feel-

The milk drops from your fingers and splashes over the table as you clamp your hands over your ears. You back from the table until your back hits the wall and you can push into it, sliding down to the floor so you can curve into yourself, be smaller, disappear. Someone is touching your arms but you can’t deal with that right now, shaking your head and tightening your grip over your ears. Everything is so loud. Your heartbeat is so loud. 

_ Chara please _

It doesn’t make sense but it feels like it echoes, like your mind has gone from being a home to a desolate cave. They’re not  _ there _ . 

_ Come back _

_ please _

_ I need you to come back _

But nobody comes. 

\--------------

When you come back to your senses you’re on the couch instead of the floor, and someone is stroking your hair.

_ Chara?  _ you send out, with the weak hope that you just imagined it, but they don’t respond. Your mind is still more spacious than it should be. They’re really gone.

You take a deep, shuddering breath, and try to sit up. 

The hand in your hair stills. Toriel makes a concerned noise and helps you up, hand on your shoulders. “Frisk,” she says, cautiously, “I am glad you’re awake. Are you feeling better, my child?”

You nod, pause, and then shake your head. You open your mouth to speak but you can already tell words are sort of beyond you right now, so you raise your hands to your chest to sign instead. They’re shaking. ‘ _ Sort of.’  _ You quickly follow it up with an ‘ _ I’ll be fine though _ ,’ trying to convince yourself more than her.

“Could you tell me what it was that set you off?”

You shrug. 

“Frisk, please,” she says, still calm and careful, but with a thread of frustration. “I cannot help you if I do not know what happened. Nor can I guarantee I won’t say… whatever I said to startle you so badly if you will not explain to me what it was.” 

You press your lips together and instinctively hunch your shoulders.  _ ‘Really I’ll be fine,’  _ you insist,  _ ‘I just need some air be back in a bit bye’  _ and then you’re up on your feet and leaving, darting out the door even as Toriel is telling you “Wait-”

Outside the air is cool and you take a deep breath, let it settle in your lungs, and then you run and run until your legs are aching and you’re far enough away that no one will think to look for you there, and you can finally let yourself fall into a little pile on the ground. The leaves crackle beneath you. In your pocket your phone is buzzing insistently, but you don’t pick up.

You can’t talk to her about this. 

You wish you could, but you can’t. You can’t talk to  _ anybody _ about this.

None of the others know that Chara exists. 

You’ve wanted to tell them so many times, and you think sometimes they’ve suspected something’s up, when something startles Chara and they lash out instead of freezing up like you do, or when they laugh, or when they make  _ you _ laugh at something nobody has heard. But you’ve never said a word. Not even when you say or do something you’ve picked up from them and it makes Toriel’s smile turn melancholic. You’re sure that it would make her happier, or at least less sad, to know. You think she  _ deserves _ to know, but you can’t tell her.

Because Chara asked you not to. 

They asked you not to and it’s  _ their _ secret. That means they call the shots. 

Simple as that.

You know why they don’t want her to know. You think you even understand - it’s the same reason Asriel wouldn’t let you bring him with you from the Underground, the same reason Alphys hid the amalgamates for so long, and the same reason you have never explained to anyone exactly what happened during your time in the Underground.

The same reason why you’ve never told anyone about the resets.

You wish you could reset right now. Load up an earlier SAVE, one where Chara is still with you and everything’s alright, but that’s not possible.

You haven’t been able to save since you left the Underground. It’s like all your SAVEs have just… disappeared.

There’s still  _ something _ , they say, but it’s far, far away, and they refuse to touch it. Say it feels like it’d unravel everything you’ve done, tear the world out from under your feet, and for what? You’re satisfied with the ending you got. 

Neither of you are willing to risk losing it.

Chara thinks the reason you can’t save anymore is something to do with the magic that was all over the Underground. Your bet is on the Barrier. Either way, it doesn’t matter, it all amounts to the same thing; there’s no earlier SAVE for you to reload. There’s just you, and now, and the  _ loneliness.  _

You anxiously rub your fingers over the seam in your jeans. You want Chara back. You would, you think, do  _ anything _ to get Chara back. But isn’t that selfish? 

… if you bring everyone their happy ending again, it would be alright, wouldn’t it? Chara would understand. You’re sure, if the others knew, they would too. Right? 

You tentatively reach out for the reset, not really trying to  _ do _ it, exactly, just checking to see if you can get a grip on it without Chara to guide you, but… there’s nothing there. Just like before you climbed Mt Ebott. You can’t reset. Not at all.

Your eyes fill with tears but you blink them away. Crying doesn’t help. This isn’t the time. There’s always a way, there’s  _ always _ a way to solve things. You didn’t get through the Underground by giving up! You must, like you always have,  _ stay determined.  _

_ Okay,  _ you think.  _ Okay. Chin up, Frisk. Stop moping.  _

There must be something you can do to fix this. Even when you have no idea what happened. Even when you’re all alone-- 

\--but you’re  _ not _ alone, are you? You have your friends, all of them. If you need help they’d be there for you, you  _ know _ that, and even if they don’t know Chara… 

You vow to yourself that you’ll try, you’ll  _ really try _ to keep their secret, but. Getting them back is more important. (You very determinedly do  _ not _ think about what would happen if you were forced to tell Asgore and Toriel the truth only for it to end up being hopeless. That won’t happen. It  _ won’t. _ ) 

You nod to yourself and straighten up, brushing yourself off as well as you can. It’s… sort of cold. Nowhere near as cold as in Snowdin, of course, but. Possibly you should’ve brought a jacket.  _ Anyways.  _

Everything will be okay. You just need to ask for help.

Your phone buzzes again and you wince. Maybe the first step ought to be letting Toriel know you’re okay. 

After that there’s someone you need to talk to. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chara is Not Okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep forgetting i've actually only published very few chapters of this so far. i'm writing them all out of order. 
> 
> ANYWAYS here's chapter three, and we're back to chara. hope you guys like it! 
> 
> ((i keep wondering what to even tag for with this? but heads up for vague hints of self harm & suicidal ideation, and general future warning for allusions to other unhealthy coping methods as well as child abuse, probably. it's a chara fic after all.))

 

This is not Frisk’s body.

You think maybe you should’ve noticed straight away? But you didn’t. It’s been so long.

This is not Frisk’s body; it is yours.

You’re skinnier than them, more angular, less soft. They’re a bit taller, you think, judging by how your arms and legs feel shorter than they should be. But that might just be because of age. Your skin is paler and you blush more easily, face turning red and blotchy at the slightest provocation.

Your scars are in different places.

Asriel is still standing next to you. No, wait, he was sitting down before; he’s standing up now, you think you pushed him off the bed. You’ve pushed yourself into the corner, as far away as you can get, because he can’t be real. None of this can be real.

Your breathing speeds up until you’re hyperventilating, gasping for air. Your nails - what’s left of them - dig into your palms. You can’t stop staring at your hands. They’re your hands. They’re _your_ hands, not Frisk’s, you have _your body_ again, and Frisk isn’t here. _Frisk isn’t here_.

A tide of hysterical laughter tears itself from your throat, bubbles out from somewhere deep inside you. Oh god. Oh, god.

This is all so funny, isn’t it? You’re laughing so hard it feels like it might drown you, ribs aching with the force of it. You can’t stop. It’s just so _funny._

How many times have you wanted to be rid of them? Have a body of your own again? Not have their _stupid_ voice yapping at you all the time, telling you what to do and not to do, _no, Chara, we’re not going to fight them, put that down, we can find another way, I’m_ **_sure_ ** _,_ pulling you out of every frenzy you manage to work yourself into, trying to keep you _in line_ , trying to, trying to, trying to _save_ you-

You don’t realise you’re crying until your vision blurs and the tears drip down your chin and onto your hands. The laughter sounds more like sobs at this point but you still. Can’t. _Stop._

Why? Why did they always have to try to _fucking save_ everyone?

... well, they can’t save you now. You’re alone. You’re not sure what you did, but it finally got what you wanted. Well done, Chara.

Are you satisfied?

In time, the tears dry out and the laugh comes to a halting stop, gives way to a low moan as you fold in over yourself. You’re alone. You’re _alone_. Frisk isn’t here. Frisk isn’t-

-but Asriel is. Asriel is here.

With more determination than should be needed for such a small task, you lift your hands and wipe at your face with your sleeves. It comes away soaked in tears and snot. _Gross_ , you think, but there’s no one to answer you. You breathe in as deeply as you can, steeling yourself for the sight, and turn your eyes to Asriel.

He’s still standing by the bed, but he’s shaking, eyes wide and anxious, paw hovering near your shoulder but not touching you.

You’re scaring him.

Is he scared _of_ you or _for_ you? You genuinely can’t tell anymore.

With another deep breath you grab his paw, pressing it to your cheek. He takes his cue and steps closer, wrapping you in a hug, he’s- he’s so small. He’s still sort of shaking. You want to keep crying, you want to tell him _it’s okay, I’m okay, stop looking like that, stop it_ , you want, you want, you want.

You don’t tell him any of that. You just squeeze your eyes shut and try to _breathe_. You’re still not waking up.

You don’t understand _how_ or _why_ , but you don’t think you’re dreaming. Somehow, you’re really here. Somehow, you’re _back_.

“...don’t,” you manage to force out after a while, stumbling over the words, “don’t tell A-Asgore and Toriel.”

“But Chara-!”

“ _No_. Please, Asriel. They can’t know. Please.”

He tenses up, face scrunching up into a wobbly grimace, and then he sags, dropping his head down on your shoulder. “Alright,” he mumbles. “I won’t tell.”

“Do you promise?”

“...yeah. I promise.”

You card your fingers through his fur. It’s soft. You’d almost forgotten. “Thanks, ‘Ree.”

It is with much reluctance you detach yourself from him again. You want to stay with him and keep pretending it’s all just a dream and you’ll wake up again in just a little while. You want to let him keep holding you forever. But your skin is _buzzing,_ and you need to get out. You need to sort this out. You need to _think._

“I need to be alone for a while,” you tell him, ignoring the guilt. “Cover for me?”

“...”

“Asriel…?”

“...yeah. Sure.”

He sounds unhappy, which, of course he does. But it’s not the first time you’ve disappointed him.

“Thank you.”

When you leave the room you don’t look back.

 

* * *

 

Light spills in through the windows, bathing the hall in gold. Your steps echo on the floor. There’s… a lot of memories in this place. A lot of things that went unsaid, or were only ever hinted at.

You remember coming here with Frisk, thinking that it was the last step on your journey. You remember how _purposeful_ the both of you were, so determined to reach the end, to make it through, to set things _right_.

You remember what came after.

Even so… It’s not so bad, this place. It sets your mind straight, soothes you, somewhat. The only dust here comes from the combination of time and lackluster sweeping.

There’s a sound behind you and you flinch, for a moment expecting to find sans standing behind you to bestow judgment upon _you_ instead of on Frisk, but it’s just a monster shuffling through, probably on their way to see the King and Queen. Nothing to fear.

You still step behind a pillar before they see you.

Hiding like this sort of reminds you of the lamp back in Snowdin. You crack a smile and think _Close one, huh? All hail convenient hiding spots._

There’s no reply. The smile drops from your face.

It’s such a strange thing to be alone in your own mind.

For the longest time, it’s been you-and-Frisk, separate minds but the same _entity_ , almost. At times your consciousness would bleed over to theirs, or theirs to yours, and it would feel like being a single person. It would feel like you had a soul.

... your soul. Do you have that, here? Your hand presses down on your ribcage, even though you know you can’t actually feel it that way. How do you find out? You don’t know how to draw it out on your own. Frisk tried, a couple of times, with and without your help, but neither of you ever managed to make it work outside of a fight. You suppose you could ask Asriel or Toriel or Asgore to spar with you, but-

_the fire never burned before but it burns you now there is a thin coating of dust on your hands on your clothes flying up around you when you hit the ground everyone crumbling into pieces there is only atk and def and LOVE you need to raise your LOVE you need to_

\- you don’t really want to.

You think… without Frisk, maybe it would be for the best if you never fought anyone again.

You’re biting your lip hard enough to bleed. You don’t need LOVE anymore, you don’t need to fight anyone anymore, this world is _not_ kill or be killed, it isn’t, _it isn’t_ , Frisk showed you that, the two of you proved it together, _you don’t need LOVE._ There are other kinds of strength, and you have _love,_ now. You have-

This... is the place where you first found love. Back before Frisk, back before all of it. They loved you. You loved them (you still love them).

You know that you, out of everyone in this world, has no right to be here, has no right to be _happy_ here, but could you really bear to leave it again?

_Can_ you leave it again?

Tentatively, you reach out for a SAVE, but there’s nothing there. _Of course not,_ you think, face twisting into a bitter grimace. _It’d be too much to ask for things to ever just be_ **_simple_ ** _, huh?_

Once again you are met only by silence.

_Whatever._

Knowing there’s nothing to anchor you to anything anymore is… strange. If you died now, it might actually kill you.

Huh.

You shake of the thought, thinking _focus, Chara_ , _get to the point_ , and then you do. Get to the point.

Why are you here? You close your eyes, try to remember if anything had been different before you woke up here, but nothing comes to mind. No strange artefacts, no ominous deals with mysterious strangers, no potential gateways to different dimensions, just… you and Frisk, going on with their life, like always. You’d been feeling a bit worn out, you guess - sort of stretched thin, aimlessly drifting now that your existence suddenly didn’t have a clear end goal in sight - but that wasn’t exactly _unusual_ , just sort of _annoying._ You’d never really expected to have to go back to a normal existence again, after… everything. You’d always planned to go out with a bang, and then that would be the end.

And then ‘the end’ turned out to only be a new beginning.

And none of that seems even vaguely relevant to the situation at hand.

With a frustrated sigh you rake your hands through your hair. This isn’t doing you any good. You’re not getting any _answers_.

You need some air. And… you need to find your parents. Need to confirm that they are still here, too, that they haven’t disappeared while you had your back turned. This world _feels_ real, but that doesn’t really mean anything, does it? Appearances can be deceiving. Until you know what’s going on you can’t trust it, this could all fall apart around you any second.

Or you could.

_Enjoy it while it lasts_ , you think again, forcing your mind away from the depressing possibilities, _Cherish every moment, Chara. Don’t let go yet._

Trailing your hand over the wall, you start making your way towards the throne room.

 

* * *

 

You may, you realise as your body grows numb and you stand petrified only a few steps out of the doors, have made a slight miscalculation. Turns out things are a bit more difficult to deal with when you can’t just disconnect yourself and let Frisk run the show on their own for a while. Probably you should’ve seen this coming.

Last time you were here there were golden flowers everywhere, covering the entire garden, almost glowing in the light. But those were only there because of you, because of Asriel, because of your mistakes.

Now, there are buttercups.

They’re so bright it makes you nauseated just to look at them, but you can’t tear your eyes away. Everything else goes away, the world narrows down to this one thing. You can hear your heart beating in your head, a phantom pain in your stomach, the _taste_ of them still lingers on your tongue- _you feel your worst sin crawling on your back-_

“Chara,” someone says behind you. You startle, flinching away from the voice and instinctively falling into a defensive stance, ready to strike at the threat, and then it properly registers in your mind. No threat. Nothing here is a threat to you. They do not mean you harm. You risk a glance up at the one who spoke. It’s Asgore. He doesn’t _look_ angry, but sometimes it’s hard to tell, and sometimes things change very quickly. Once you were convinced he’d never be able to bring himself to intentionally hurt _anybody_ (once you thought this made him weak) but…

He could hurt Frisk, as much as you’re certain he hated every second of it. He _did_ hurt Frisk. The two of you died over and over and over again as you tried to find a different solution but _there was none_ , there was nothing you could do, he refused to let you spare him, and you refused to give up when you had come so far. Frisk _died_.

_He made Frisk fight._

But… that was long ago. It was long ago and it hasn’t happened yet.

Your breaths are still quicker and more shallow than they should be but you stand up properly, letting your hands fall to your sides. The hem of Asgore’s robe trails over the ground. He’ll get it all muddy again.

He doesn’t chastise you for your reflexes. Instead, he gently nudges you away from the flower patch, tilting your head upwards with a gentle paw. You’re not sure what he sees in your eyes. You’re not sure what there is to see anymore, if there ever was anything. Does he see a murderer? A demon? A soulless husk? You were all those things, once. And then came Frisk.

….and then they were gone.

Whatever Asgore is looking for he seems to find it. He pulls his paw away from your chin and places it on your shoulder instead. “We know it was an accident, Chara. You have been forgiven, and no lasting damage was done. It is in the past now. You do know that, don’t you?”

For a moment, one single blissful moment, you think this means he knows after all. Maybe they all know where you’re from, what has changed, what you have _done,_ and maybe, as outrageous as it is, as little as you deserve it, they have found it in their hearts to forgive you. Maybe you don’t have to feel guilty about being here after all. Then your thoughts catch up and you realise: oh. The buttercups. This must be just after you and Asriel made that pie. It wouldn’t have been many days from now you ask him to help you with your plan.

Maybe you already have.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “I know.”

Something in your voice must betray you, because Asgore’s brows knit together in a frown.

“Are you alright, my child?” he asks, paw heavy on your shoulder. You must hesitate a moment too long before nodding, because he keeps going. “Chara. We all care very deeply for you, and we want nothing else than for you, and Asriel, to be happy. If there was something bothering you, anything at all…  you would tell us about it. Would you not?”

Your mind throws you for a loop, weighing the risk of telling him vs the risk of lying only to be caught in that lie when Asriel tells him about this morning, and then you realise you’re being ridiculous.

Asriel is not a tattletale. He wouldn’t tell on you, not ever. He never did.

_Not even when maybe he should have,_ you think, guilt like concrete in your chest.

“I’m okay, Mr- I mean, Dad,” you say, as softly as you can muster. The word feels as odd in your mouth now as it did then. Now. Then. Frisk doesn’t really call Asgore ‘dad’ much. “Really, I am.”

He nods, slowly. “You know, it’s been… quite some time since we last spent some time together, you and I,” he says, and for one terrifying split of a second you think he’ll ask you to help him in the garden and you don’t trust yourself around anything sharp right now, but instead he just smiles. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”

Your eyes fill with tears and you tilt your head down again so you can hide behind your bangs, scrubbing furiously at your eyes in a useless attempt not to cry. God, you’re so pathetic. “Yeah,” you say, voice disgustingly wobbly. “Yeah, Dad. I’d like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((edit: this just crossed the 1000 hits mark and wowowowow. i have no idea if that's much or little for this fandom but to _me_ it's sort of huge, that so many people thought it was worth at least taking a look, and!!! over 100 kudos?? man that's _a hundred_ people. you could make a tv-show with that.  
>  ok bad jokes aside i'm genuinely touched and flattered, especially considering that it's the first thing i've written at _all_ in... a year? and the first thing i've written for a fandom consisting of more people than just me and my friends in, oh gosh, i don't even know, but we're talking _years_. so it really does mean a lot to me that any of you are here to begin with. thanks, everyone  <3 ))


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk asks for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is late.  
> it is also approximately twice as long as it could've been.   
> enjoy?
> 
> ((frisk pov again for this one!))

You fish your phone out of your pocket, finding, just as you expected, about twenty missed calls from Toriel, and, to your great surprise, a text from Sans. 

**hey, frisk. is everything alright?**

The words glare up at you from the screen. You’re not sure what to respond. In the end you settle for keeping it simple.

**Yeah I’m fine**

He responds almost instantly. 

**glad to know you’re okay. tori’s freaking out.** **  
****let her know you’re safe, kid.**

A part of you slowly twists up in guilt, but you try to brush it off. There’s… been a lot of things to adjust to, after moving in with Toriel. Lots of things in your life are entirely new, or at least very different from what they used to be. 

So far the hardest thing to get used to is having people around who would miss you if you weren’t around. Who would not only notice if you went missing, but  _ worry _ about you. Maybe even  _ look _ for you.

It’s… strange. And you’re not always the best at managing it. You’re getting there, though. Slowly.

For now, you try to focus on the task at hand.

**I know I know**

**I will** **  
****I didn’t mean to make her worry.**

You click out of the conversation and write a message to Toriel. You’re not really sure what to say, so it basically comes down to a quick ‘I’m alright’, followed by apologising and telling her you’re fine, really, but you’ll stay out a while longer. 

Soon as you’ve sent it there’s another message from Sans. 

**i figured.** **  
****you gonna tell me what happened?**

Your fingers hover over the screen, hesitating. Are you? You’re not sure. You don’t want more people to know than what is absolutely necessary. You owe it to Chara to keep their secret.

...but more than that, you owe it to save them, don’t you? And Sans knows things, he’s smart. He knows, you suddenly recall, about the resets, though you’re not certain how much. After everything that happened with Asriel, and breaking the barrier, it sort of slipped your mind, and you’ve been so busy since. 

You make up your mind.

**Yeah. Meet me at alphys’ place? I need to talk to her too**

The pause this time is a bit longer. You impatiently tap your foot on the ground.

**sure. see ya**

The air in your lungs rushes out of you in one long breath. There. That’s you, having taken the first step. That’s supposed to be the hardest one, isn’t it? You’re off.

Now you just need to keep moving.

* * *

  
  


You stand outside Alphys’ door, hand raised to knock. It’s been five minutes. You still haven’t knocked. 

You’re not sure where to start. But… you figure that sort of means you can start  _ anywhere, _ right? You want to know what happened, you want to know why Chara is gone, you want to find a way to bring them back. You think, maybe, to understand any of that, you first need to understand why they were even with you in the first place. 

If they were here right now they’d tell you to stop being such a wimp and just go for it already. They can be such a  _ jerk _ sometimes. 

Reminding yourself why you’re here, you hold your breath and rap your knuckles against the door. It swings open, and there’s Sans. He looks… entirely unperturbed. But that’s him just about always. You and Chara are both extremely envious of the advantage being a literal skeleton gives you to keeping a good poker face. 

Knowing he’s looking at you makes you feel incredibly self conscious. You fight down the urge to cross your arms, and bring them up to your chest to sign instead.  _ ‘Hi.’ _

‘Hi yourself. You gonna come in?” 

You nod and try to straighten up a bit, make it look like you’re more okay than you actually are. You don’t think you do very well. 

“Gotta say, you’ve got me curious,” he mumbles, and then holds the door open for you. “Hey, Alphys! They’re here.”

There’s a little ‘oh!’ from one of the other rooms, and then Alphys appears at the end of the hallway. 

“Hi, Frisk!” she calls to you. She’s smiling. “Do you- W-would you like a drink? Or something?”

You don’t really feel like eating or drinking anything right now, but… Chara was always a firm believer in the theory that there’s absolutely no situation that can’t be improved by tea, so you ask for that, before following Alphys into the living room. She gestures to the couch. You sit down on the couch and try to make yourself comfortable while she goes into the kitchen to get the water boiling. 

Sans takes a seat across from you. You can’t help but shrink into yourself, hunching your shoulders - and then you remember that neither of them would mind, so you pull your legs up underneath you and sit like that. He doesn’t say anything, and neither do you, but you still feel his eyes on you even though every time you sneak a glance he’s looking somewhere else. It’s sort of a relief when Alphys comes back and sits at the other end of the couch. 

“It’ll be just a moment,” she tells you, before lapsing into silence. You should break it. But you’re not really sure how. 

In the end, Alphys does it for you. “S-so!” she says, turning to you. “W-what’s up? Sans said you had something to talk about…” 

“Yeah,” you say, out loud. Your throat is dry. “I need to ask you something. About souls.” 

Her face falls. It’s only for a moment; she plasters on a smile again almost immediately, but you saw it happen. The air in the room feels suddenly heavier somehow, and you don’t dare to look back at Sans. You wish you had something to fiddle with. A ring, or a bracelet, or… just about anything, really. Instead you settle for pulling at your sleeve.

“S-souls?” she stutters. “I- um- y-yeah, sure. Go ahead!”

You hate to bring her down from her good mood like this. You hate to be the one to remind her about everything. It’s not like you knew her all that well before, so you haven’t got anything definite to compare to, but she’s… really a lot happier in general now, you think, when she hasn’t got everyone’s fates hanging on her shoulders anymore. Just like you.

... _and just like Chara,_ you think, with a painful sting.  You give yourself a mental shake. _Stop that._ _You’re getting them back. That’s why you’re here._

“Can…” you start, only to stop and start over. That’s not the right question. You know  _ if _ . You want to know  _ how _ . “What could cause someone to… stick around after their soul is gone?” 

She laughs nervously. “W-well… I guess… if they’re a human, their, um, determination keeps their soul from shattering, and someone could…” 

“I’d think you know more about that than we do, Frisk,” Sans says, not unkindly, but with an odd edge to his voice. You shake your head. 

“No, that’s not what I meant - I mean, if their soul  _ has _ shattered? If it’s  _ really gone _ ? How would someone… be alive after that?”  

Alphys’ face twists up in confusion, brows furrowing. “Um. They can’t? I mean… If your soul breaks, that’s… that’s it.”

“But what if,  _ hypothetically _ , someone could? How would it happen?”

“Sorry, Frisk.” She makes a helpless gesture. “I don’t really know what you want me to say, it just… isn’t possible.”

“But-” you say, fumbling for the words. “As long as you still have determination- the amalgamates-”

“They weren’t really  _ gone _ , Frisk. They were just… fading. And besides-” the corners of her lips quirk up in a vague approximation of a smile “- we all know how well that went.”

A heavy silence spreads in the room. You do. On some level you’re aware that this is where you’re supposed to comfort her, 

“I really am sorry, Frisk,” she tells you. You don’t respond. The silence stretches out until it’s miles past ‘uncomfortable’, but you don’t care.

“W-well!” Alphys says with forced cheer. “I bet the tea water’s ready! I’ll be right back!”

And then she leaves the room, and you have to press your nails into your arms to stay still.

She can’t help you. The thought fills you with a hopelessness so intense you think that if you were a monster, it might actually kill you.  _ No.  _ No, you’re not giving up, you’re  _ not _ .  _ Pull yourself together.  _

Living on without a soul  _ is _ possible. You know it is, because Chara  _ did _ , and so it must be. Their existence in itself is proof. That means there must be a solution, an explanation, there must be, there  _ must _ be. 

“Frisk,” Sans says, snapping you out of your thoughts. You’d almost forgotten he was there. Your eyes dart to his. “What’s this about, really?” 

You shrug. 

“That wasn’t really a hypothetical question, was it?” 

Even though it’s fairly obvious he already knows what your answer is going to be, you hesitate before shaking your head. 

“I figured. So. Who’s dead?” 

You can’t help it; you flinch at the word. “It’s not  _ like _ that,” you say, forcefully enough that it takes you by surprise. Him too, judging by the way he actually blinks. 

“They’re not dead,” you say, not sure who you’re trying to convince. “They’re not.”

“Alright,” he says, spreading his arms in an attempt to placate you. “I’m just saying… Bringing people back from… wherever they’ve gone might not be the best idea.” 

You know. Or, well, you don’t  _ know _ , but that’s just how it always works, isn’t it? Every book, every TV-show, every movie you’ve ever watched - once someone’s dead, it’s better they just stay that way. Trying to bring people back is always where the real trouble starts.

But Chara  _ isn’t dead.  _

… or maybe they were always dead. Either way, it doesn’t matter, it  _ doesn’t _ , and however things work normally this isn’t the  _ same _ .  _ You’ve _ died. You’ve died over and over and over - and then you’ve come back, and that’s been  _ fine.  _

“It’s not the same,” you tell him. “They’re… If they’re dead they were dead before I ever knew them.”

You fall silent as Alphys comes back in, bringing you the tea. You curl your fingers around the cup, careful not to burn yourself. 

“Thank you,” you say, forcing a small smile to your lips for her.

“We can’t help if we don’t know what’s going on, Frisk,” Sans says. Alphys looks questioningly between the two of you, but she sits back down without commenting. You’re grateful. 

You take a small sip from the cup. It’s hot, and Alphys always puts too much sugar in it -- this is one of the few occasions where you and Chara agree that it’s possible for something to have  _ too much _ sugar -- but it’s okay. Chara would probably appreciate it more than you do, though. 

...they wouldn’t want you to tell- 

- _ and that means nothing if they’re gone forever,  _ you remind yourself, as you take a deep breath, and start talking. 

You tell them about falling into the Underground, about being lost and lonely, and then… hearing a voice, a child just like you, and how you were never really lonely again. For the longest time you thought you’d gone crazy, but compared to everything else, hearing voices was really a fairly small thing. And they knew things you didn’t, could tell you stuff about people you’d never met before in your life… At first they were sort of a guide. Eventually, they became a friend.

It’s… weird, telling someone about all this. You’ve never had to say it out loud before, and you feel so clumsy - the words won’t come out right, you’re stumbling and stuttering and probably making things a lot more confusing than they have to be, but Alphys and Sans are a good audience. They stay quiet, letting you talk at your own pace, even as you take breaks to rephrase something or sip at the tea, which is slowly growing cold. 

...you don’t tell them everything. Some things belong to you and Chara alone. And some things… Some things you wish you could forget, but they’re chiseled into your memory, flashes of things that should never have happened burning at the back of your brain. It’s irrelevant, it’s not  _ real  _ anymore, you went back, you set it right. You won’t let it happen again. They won’t let it happen again. It’s in the past; it doesn’t matter now. 

“...and this morning they just disappeared,” you say, reaching the end. You’re not crying. You feel like this is something to be proud of. “I don’t know what happened, it was just- they were there, and then they weren’t, and I want them back _. _ ” Your voice breaks. They’re kind enough to pretend it doesn’t. “They’re gone and they shouldn’t be, and I want them _ back _ .”

“Well, then,” Sans murmurs, leaning back. “That's a tricky one.” 

“I don’t understand what happened,” you say helplessly. 

“You're sure they didn't just… move on, or something? Went wherever people go when they die?”

“They didn't,” you say, but even to your own ears you don't sound very convincing. “They wouldn't… Chara wouldn't do that to me. Not without saying goodbye, or…”

“Wait.” Alphys interrupts you with a frown, speaking up for the first time since you begun the story. “Did you say  _ Chara?” _

You freeze, hands clenching around the cup. You'd forgotten - the  _ tapes -  _ they were in Alphys’ lab, she'd know, of  _ course  _ she'd know-

“Chara as in Asgore and Toriel’s-” 

“We can’t tell them,” you blurt out, catching her eye. She looks… baffled, more than anything. “Chara wouldn’t want them to know. They never wanted them to know.” 

To your great surprise, neither of them tries to argue against you. 

“The first fallen, huh…” Sans muses, and shoots Alphys a Look you can’t decipher. She looks conflicted, fidgeting under the combined weight of your stare and Sans’ and you know, with earth-shattering certainty, that she’s hiding something. Something important. 

Part of you wants to confront her, wants to scream and take her by the shoulders and shake her until she tells you everything she knows but- no.  That… isn’t who you are, that isn’t what you do, you’re determined to be  _ better _ than that. You’ve been on the wrong side of that exchange too many times, and it never makes anything better, does it? If she knows anything that can help you, she’ll tell you anyways. She’s your friend. You trust her. You trust your friends. You  _ have _ to. 

Oblivious to your brief inner battle, Alphys seems to be facing one of her own. Still looking uncertain, she turns to you.

“Frisk… Y-you really want this… right?” 

‘Want’ isn’t nearly enough to describe it. Chara’s absence is a tangible  _ hole _ inside of you; you don’t want this, you  _ need _ it. You need them to come back, and you’re certain that wherever they are, they need you too. You’ve been doing surprisingly alright so far, but you can’t keep it up alone, you can’t keep going alone when there’s supposed to be two of you. You need them back. 

You want to tell her about Chara - not like you did earlier, trying to only explain the  _ concept _ of what was going on, but tell her about  _ Chara _ , the person, your friend, but every time you try your throat clogs up and the words get stuck, so you don’t. 

Instead, you just say ‘ _ Yes, _ ’ hoping the longing in your voice makes up for it. 

Alphys takes a deep breath and nods resolutely. “Okay,” she says. “Okay. I might- I might have an idea of what to do. Or- or where to start.” 

She glances over at Sans. He stretches his arms above his head.

“On it,” he says, winking at you. “Hey, Frisk, how would you feel about taking a walk?”

“Where are we going?” 

“Well,  _ first _ we’re gonna go talk to Tori so she gets a chance to calm down for real. After that… Alphys, you wanna do the honors?”

Her voice is trembling, just a little bit, but she still sounds as determined as you’ve ever seen her be. 

“We need to visit the lab. We’re going back down to the Underground.”

* * *

 

Sans walks with you all the way to your and Toriel’s house. No short-cuts. His presence beside you is familiar, calming, as your mind races at the thought of going back to Mt Ebott.  The thought fills you with a strange sort of icy almost-dread. All those caverns, all those homes, with no one living there anymore… it must be so empty. It must be so lonely. 

_ He _ must be so lonely. 

… it’s been a while since you thought about Asriel. Mostly you try not to, because it’s not at all a happy thought. 

You left him down there, all alone. He helped you save everyone, and in the end you abandoned him. Because he asked you to. And because when he did, when you tried to insist that he could come with you anyways, that you were sure it’d be okay, Chara’s presence in your mind went strangely cold and distant and they sounded so detached when they told you to just listen to him, to just do what he wanted. So you did. You walked out of there, and you never told anyone what had really happened.

Just another secret for you to keep. 

Keeping Chara secret from Asriel, and Asriel secret from everyone else - you wonder what they’d think if you told them they were sort of similar, in a way. 

… this isn’t something you want to be thinking about right now. You try to distract yourself by talking to Sans,but he keeps stubbornly dodging every question you ask until you’re so frustrated every trace of melancholy is burnt out of your system, and you wish you had something to throw at him.

“You’ll see,” he says in response to ‘What’s in the lab?’, ‘What was Alphys talking about?’, ‘What are we going to tell Mom?’, ‘Why can’t you just tell me now?’, and just about every other question you can think of.

You’re almost there when he retorts with a question of his own.

“So. I gotta wonder. Why don’t you just go back?”

“...huh?” The question catches you unawares and it takes longer than usual for it to filter through your consciousness and be deciphered into actual words. 

“You’re obviously not very happy with this outcome. So… why don’t you go back? Don’t get me wrong,” he says when he notices your shocked expression, “I’m not saying you should. I’m just… curious.” 

“I can’t,” you say once you remember how words work.

“Why not?” 

You shrug. “I don’t know. I never…” You swallow and then revise your statement. He knows. It’s okay. “ _ We _ never really figured out how any of it actually  _ works _ , we just… did it. Besides,” you can’t help but smile slightly as you say it, even with how miserable the situation is, “they were always more determined than I am.”

It looks like there’s more things he wants to say, or maybe ask, but you’re already back home, so the conversation is effectively over, and besides: payback is sweet. Time to face your adoptive mother’s concern-and-or-fury. 

“Tori,” Sans calls when you open the door. “Brought your kid back.” 

There’s a muffled exclamation from the kitchen, the sound of something hastily being put back down on a table, and then Toriel rushes into the hallway and drops down to her knees in front of you, pulling you into a tight embrace. 

“Hi, mom,” you whisper into her fur. She hugs you even harder. You… must’ve really frightened her, huh? It’s weird to think that she’d be worried on a venture as relatively safe as this one, considering everything that happened to and around and because of you in the underground, but. You suppose maybe you sort of understand.

You close your eyes and hug her back until, of course, she pulls away. Her eyes are narrowed as she looks you up and down, most likely checking for injuries. Once she’s seen that you’re okay - no broken bones, no scratches - some of the tension disappears, and you breathe a sigh of relief. You do feel bad about worrying her, really. 

The time between her relaxing just a fraction and her going into lecture mode is approximately zero point three seconds. You keep up the appearance of listening attentively as she gently chides you for not telling you where you were going, not answering her calls, and not dressing more warmly when you’re going outside in this weather. To be honest you sort of zone out half-way through, making nods at what you think is the appropriate places.  

...the first time Toriel got upset with you, you freaked out really badly. You couldn’t even really hear what she was saying, you were so caught up in having made her angry and thinking you’d ruined everything for sure this time that it was hard to focus on anything else, up until Chara stepped in and breathed with you for a while, just until they’d balanced you out enough to keep going on your own. It hadn’t been a serious lecture. She hadn’t even raised her voice at you, not really. It’s just that you find it difficult to tell sometimes, with adults.

“-but I need to know where you are,” Toriel is saying sternly. You bring your attention back to her. “You could have gotten lost, or injured, and we would have had no clue of where to look for you!” 

“I know, mom,” you say, dutifully. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you worry - I just panicked. I’m okay now, really.”

All the fight seems to go out of her and she sighs deeply, before giving you a weak smile and placing her hand on your shoulder, getting up from the floor. “I know you would not alarm me on purpose. I am glad that you are alright.”

“So, speaking of letting her know where you’re going, Frisk,” Sans says. You roll your eyes at him. 

_ ‘Your idea, _ ’ you sign, shielding your hands with your body so Toriel can’t see.  _ ‘And since you won’t explain it to me properly, you get to tell her. Congrats.’  _

“Eh, I guess that’s fair,” he shrugs, turning to Toriel. You’re a bit disappointed you didn’t manage to get a reaction out of him.  _ One day. _ “Frisk, Alphys and I are going on a field trip. There’s a couple of things to sort out in the underground - nothing big, just some stuff we didn’t get a chance to sort out before we left. Some stuff we think Frisk’d like to see, too.”

Whatever she was expecting him to say, this clearly wasn’t it. 

She glances between the two of you for a long time before she speaks, obviously weighing her words very carefully. “Frisk, I know that you are very capable, but I do not feel comfortable sending you down there on your own.”

But Sans reassures her. “They’ll be okay, Tori. You know Frisk, they’ve always been an independent sort of kid.” He winks. “‘Sides, they won’t be on their own. I’m keeping them company, right, Frisk?”

“So is Alphys,” you remind her, nodding eagerly. Her discomfort does seem to fade a bit at that, but not entirely.

“Even so, I think it would be for the best if I joined you as well-”

_ No.  _ You’re shaking your head long before she’s done speaking, but Sans interrupts her before you have the time to. 

“Nah, you’ve other things to worry about. Can’t abandon your students like that.”

“I suppose you are right,” she says, not looking entirely appeased. Nevertheless you sigh in relief. 

“I’ll be okay, really,” you tell her, making sure to smile wide and confidently. “It’s just a short trip, Mom! It’s not like I haven’t been before…”

“I know,” she sighs, “But still… I cannot help but worry. Is this truly necessary, my child?”

“Yes,” you tell her immediately. Part of you wants to tell her that it’s  _ important _ , that you  _ have _ to go, but that’d just make her suspicious, and even less likely to let you off without her. She looks at you. You do your best to seem upbeat and genuine. After a while she reluctantly nod. 

“Be very careful,” she tells you sternly, before turning to Sans and, equally sternly, orders him to look after you, and both of you to check in with her regularly. She offers to bake you something for the road, but Sans declines, saying you’d better get going if you want to get there before it’s dark. With a start you realise he’s right; it’s almost afternoon. Your stomach finds it suitable to remind you that you haven’t eaten anything since breakfast. It does this rather loudly, and Toriel insists you at least grab something from the fridge before you leave. 

You’re glad to have her looking after you. 

… once Chara is back, you swear to yourself, you’ll make sure to convince them to tell her. 

* * *

  
  


The hike up Mt Ebott is better with company. The wind whooshes through the trees, the leaves crinkle under your feet, and you steadily make your way up the mountain, Sans and Alphys not far behind you. 

This time you have an actual backpack, with some stuff you thought might be of use - a piece of rope, because that feels like a sensible thing to bring on an adventure, a small box of bandaids, for the same reason, and a tupperware container with some food, because even though monster food doesn’t go bad it feels better to actually  _ keep  _ it somewhere than to just shove it in your pockets.

There are also items that are far less practical: a bar of chocolate, Chara’s favourite brand, and a worn copy of  _ Le Petit Prince _ , which Chara sometimes pretends to think is childish, even though you share a head and you can feel it makes them just as happy as it makes you. 

You’re not sure why you brought them. Most likely they’re just gonna end up being dead weight, but… It just felt wrong to do anything relating to Chara without bringing books and chocolate. 

… if he still won’t listen and come back home with you, you’ll leave the book with Asriel.

You reach your destination just as it’s getting darker, stopping by the entrance to the Underground in silence.  _ I’m coming for you, Chara _ , you think, hands clenching around the straps of the backpack.  _ I’m going to fix this. I’m getting you back.  _

“Well. Here we are, then,” Sans says, hands in his pockets, standing right at the edge of the cliff. Behind you, the sun is setting. 

“Are you r-ready, Frisk?” Alphys asks.  

The Underground spreads out below you. 

You give them both a determined nod, and begin the descent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter fought me every step of the way and it probably shows. ANYWAYS IT'S DONE NOW, which means i get to move on to _the fun stuff_. (why no, there is nothing ominous about that statement. _nothing at all_.   
>  in all sincerity, i'm sorry this chapter took so long. the next should (hopefully) come in a lot sooner.


	5. reminiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back with Chara, they struggle to reconcile their memories of past events with their current situation, and to adapt to a life without Frisk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, in my defense, homestuck updated.  
> ((also i frequently forget how time works and then suddenly it's been a week, or in this case, a month. whoops? but TO COMPENSATE FOR THAT this chapter is nearly 5k words long. jeez)) 
> 
> back to chara POV for this one: heads up for some unpleasantness no worse than canon events, check end notes for more details. 
> 
> text entirely in italics indicate past events.

_ The food options on the surface are a lot less limited than they were in the Underground, but everyone still has their favourites. Toriel, in particular, still has… peculiar tastes.  _

_ “-crack the shell, and then separate them, like so,” she instructs, demonstrating as she goes along. “Then all there is left to do is wash them, and cut them into smaller pieces. Do you think you can do that for me?”  _

_ “Of course, mom,” Frisk beams, smile vanishing as soon as Toriel turns her back on them to take the pie crust out of the fridge to shape it. She always makes them one day in advance. With a feeling akin to dread, Frisk turns back to the task at hand. _

_ The snails squelch in the bowl. Frisk scrunches their nose up and sneaks a peek at Toriel out of the corner of their eye. Once they’ve confirmed she’s not looking, they experimentally poke one of them, only to immediately jerk their hand back with a grimace and a soft, but heartfelt, ‘ _ **_ew.’_ **

**_...you pick some up and get to work,_ ** _ you prompt them, after a moment has passed and they’ve failed to do so on their own accord.  _

**_This is gross,_ ** _ they grumble to you as they, slowly and with a lot of reluctance, sink their hands into the bucket to grab a fistful of snails.  _ **_So incredibly gross._ **

**_It’s not that bad_ ** _ , you say pragmatically.  _ **_Snail pie is actually pretty decent._ **

_ They shudder theatrically in response.  _

**_Just give it a chance!_ ** _ you say, muffling a laugh.  _ **_Maybe you’ll be surprised… Preparing it can’t possibly be worse than wading through waist-high trash-water, anyhow, and you didn’t complain nearly as much that time._ **

**_I had other things on my mind then,_ ** _ they reply miserably, grabbing the small mallet Toriel has provided for the task and hitting one of the snails with it.  _ **_Besides, the water wasn’t_ ** **slimy** **_. This is. It’s gross and I’ll never be clean again._ **

**_Don’t be so melodramatic._ **

_ There’s an almost audible whine as they push the snails around on the cutting board, trying their hardest not to touch them with anything but the knife and the very tips of their fingers. While somewhat amusing, it’s highly inefficient, and they do seem genuinely distraught. You take pity on them.  _

**_Fine,_ ** _ you sigh, metaphorically rolling your eyes at their ineptitude,  _ **_Just let me do it._ **

**_Are you sure?_ ** _ Frisk asks, even though they’re obviously itching to not have to touch the snails anymore.  _

**_Yeah, come on,_ ** _ you encourage them.  _ **_Budge over._ **

_ They retreat with a relieved sigh, allowing you to take over. After some trial and error you’ve gotten the hang of things and fall into the rhythm of it, cracking them open, removing the snails from their shells and slicing them up. Even with Frisk’s backseat-driving, pointing out every shrapnel of shell you miss, it’s… nice, albeit time-consuming. You like feeling useful. _

_ Also: knife.  _

_ “I’m done!” you announce once there’s no whole snails left. Toriel glances up from her phone - the pie crust is finished and back to cooling down for a bit in the fridge, and the other ingredients (some of which were unavailable underground. Looks like she  _ **_is_ ** _ updating her repertoire after all) are all ready to go. You must’ve taken longer than you thought. In the meantime, she has been… texting, judging by her somewhat flustered smile and barely held-back laughter with Sans, and letting you finish at your own pace.  _

_ She gives you a proud, motherly pat on the head. You let the warm glow fill your chest. _

_ “Very well done, Frisk,” she says, and the glow dissipates, leaving only a bittersweet flicker behind. “Would you like to stay in the kitchen until it is done, or should I call you back down for dinner?”  _

**_Frisk?_ **

**_I never finished my maths homework,_ ** _ they say apologetically. You sigh. _

_ “I need to do my homework,” you tell Toriel, almost biting your tongue to avoid saying ‘we’.  _

**_Thanks,_ ** _ Frisk says as you hand control back over to them and they trudge up the stairs.  _

**_No problem,_ ** _ you reply.  _ **_… dibs on not eating_ ** **all** **_of the pie, by the way. You have to at least_ ** **taste** **_it._ **

**_Charaaaa,_ ** _ they whine.  _

**_It’s an acquired taste,_ ** _ you insist.  _ **_That means you have to acquire the taste for it._ **

_ They roll their eyes at you. You try to trip them up the stairs.  _

_ It’s good. God help you, it’s  _ **_good._ **

 

* * *

 

There is a pattern to this: he heats up the water, and you get the cups, hoisting yourself up on top of the counter so you can reach. He promises not to tell Toriel you’ve been climbing on the kitchen furniture and you stay there, feet dangling above the floor. You talk for a bit, about everything and nothing, small-talk about how things are going with his garden, polite inquiries about your studies and whether you’ve done anything interesting that day, and then you lapse into comfortable silence and finish your tea before it grows cold. 

The pattern is well-rehearsed enough that you can still perform the steps without much conscious thought, enough that it is still a comforting routine. 

It has been a long while since you were alone with Asgore.

Frisk doesn’t see him that often, because Toriel is still angry with him (of course she is - if she knew the  _ truth _ , she would be angry with you too), and Frisk… doesn’t have much incentive to seek him out on their own. You think the main reason they still do it at all is for your sake. 

The thought sticks in your throat and you take an extra big sip of the tea to force it down. 

Not seeing him much just the two- well,  _ three _ of you doesn’t mean you never see him, it’s just that it’s always with others. Ambassador things, which are almost entirely Frisk. Anime nights at Alphys’ - those times are mostly you, because you always get super into it and Frisk says your excitement gets annoying when you can’t even bounce in your seat or something to give it an outlet, and everyone’s watching the screen anyways. They only really step in if it looks like you’ll get into another debate about the underlying themes, or which character is obviously superior. (If you talk too much, someone is bound to notice the difference.)

Asgore tries to follow along with the debates when they do, inevitably, happen - you and Alphys are both  _ very _ opinionated people when you find the right topic - but he keeps mixing names up. And timelines. And entire series. You can still recall, in perfect detail, the resigned look on Alphys’ face when he tried to bring up Sayaka in a discussion about Sailor Moon. 

… he’s always been like that, you remember. Clumsily trying to relate to your and Asriel’s interests. Asriel had to explain the rules of your games so many times… 

You peek out from under your hair, watching him in what you hope is a furtive manner, trying to find and catalogue the differences between Asgore now and Asgore later, but… you can’t. Speaking purely visually, there’s nothing there for you to point to and say ‘this, this is how you see it’, no white fur now that will be grey later, no clear signs of aging. (Of course, there wouldn’t be. He wouldn’t age after… after.) Still. 

He looks… not younger, then, but  _ lighter. After _ there’s always been like a weight on him, a tension in his shoulders that isn’t there now (isn’t there yet?), a… tiredness. He  _ feels _ younger. 

Especially when Toriel comes back home (you quickly jump down from the counter, Asgore intercepting her at the door so she doesn’t see) and he greets her with none of the restraint, none of the reservation you’ve grown so used to seeing between the two of them.

You quietly leave your cup in the sink and sidle out of the room. It’s starting to sink in that impossible as it seems you’ve really gone back, further than you ever have before.

 

* * *

 

_‘Prove yourself’, she tells you- tells_ ** _them_** _, this_ _child who stumbles along and plays nice and acts like they’re_ ** _good_** _when there’s no such thing, you know how humans are and_ ** _there is no such thing._**

**_You heard her,_ ** _ you tell them, suppressing a scoff at their near-flinch.  _ **_Show her you’re strong enough._ **

_ The whole thing is such a farce, you think. Kid can barely even hold the knife properly; their grip is all wrong, clasped between both their palms and still they’re shaking. It’s ridiculous. It’s not like Toriel, of all people, who’s told you stories and tucked you into bed and never so much as tried to  _ **_slap_ ** _ you or Asriel would ever hurt a child.  _

_ She throws fire at them. _

_ The flames are temperature-regulated, of course. Like the ones in the fireplace. The kid is still scared, jerking out of their path with clumsy steps, trying in vain to give them a wide berth. You’re rolling your eyes - but then they get hit, and they cry out in pain, and you cry with them, because it- it  _ **_burns_ ** _.  _

_ it burns you. _

_ They force themself back on their feet to keep going, but you’re trying to remember how to breathe even though you don’t have lungs to do that with right now. _

_ You should have known. You should have  _ **_known._ **

_ You can’t believe you were stupid enough to ever  _ **_trust_ ** _ anyone. You should know better than most that love is a lie, that no one could ever really care like that, that everyone will come to betray you in the end, that if even _ **_Asriel_ ** _ could let you down- _

**_Fight her,_** _you hiss at them as they try to talk her down with no success,_ ** _fight her, you coward, you fucking coward, you’ll never get past if you don’t, she’ll KILL you, just show her you’re strong enough and she’ll_** **_STOP!_**

_ Finally, finally they listen, and you move almost synchronised as you duck under and step aside from fireballs, lashing out with the toy knife as soon as it’s your turn.  _ **_She’ll give up soon,_ ** _ you tell the kid (you tell yourself),  _ **_she can’t keep this up, she can’t._ **

_ You’re too slow to dodge and the fire sears their skin. They cry out in pain and for a moment she looks guilty, but she does not stop.  _

_ The kid forces themself back to their feet and make another clumsy strike. Their HP is getting low.  _

**_You need to dodge better,_ ** _ you say, and  _ **_I’m_ ** **trying** **_,_ ** _ they shoot back, one of the first times they’ve spoken with you- _

_ \- and then, distracted so they forget to dodge, they’re hit by two bullets in quick succession, a sharp scream bursts from their throat, and their HP hits zero.  _

_ The pain flares through their entire body - you imagine this is what being struck by lightning feels like - and their soul shakes, pulses brightly- and shatters.  _

_ The world goes black. You’re slipping away again, back into oblivion; there is nothing to hold onto any longer, there is nothing there, nothing-  _ **_no._ ** _ You’re not leaving yet. Neither of you are leaving yet. You are  _ **_not letting go._ **

_ You reach out for a feeling, for a moment, a memory - you grab hold of it and you _ **_pull._ **

_ You reload your save.  _

_ The world blinks back into existence. Toriel’s house stands before you, savepoint twinkling among the leaves. The kid’s back to full health, but they’re shaking, and within moments they’re on the ground, retching.  _

_ She… killed you.  _

_ You _ **_died._ **

_ This is a betrayal the likes of which you’ve never felt before. A rage is welling up in you, ugly and loud, drowning out everything else until you’re buzzing with it, until you can barely stop yourself from screaming until the whole world echoes with the force of it, until all you want is to, is to… _

_ The kid’s thoughts are a mess, an incoherent stream of  _ **_what was that what happened what did you do what did you DO-_ **

**_You died,_ ** _ you say, cold, cold, cold.  _ **_You weren’t strong enough and she killed you._ **

_ There’s a pathetic little hickup, their breath hitching.  _ **_But I’m still alive. What…_ **

**_I don’t know_ ** _ , you tell them, truthfully.  _ **_But I think I could do it again._ **

_ Your mind whirrs with possibilities, all of you pulsing to the same beat as the hatred still filling you up, slowly becoming ice rather than fire.  _

**_Do you want to get stronger?_ ** _ you ask the kid, and you don’t have lips but they feel wooden, not moving right.  _

_ They wipe the bile from their mouth. There’s a second of hesitation, but that’s all.  _ **_Yes,_ ** _ they tell you.  _

**_Good,_ ** _ you say,  _ **_let me show you how,_ ** _ and you  r e s e  t  _

 

* * *

 

When you first moved into New Home you’d wander around and try to get lost in the halls, search for hidden spaces and interesting things both together with Asriel and on your own, but there was a disappointing lack of secret passages, and while there were plenty corridors and nooks and crannies to get lost in, after a while you’d seen it all. 

This place hasn’t changed. 

Technically that is, or should be, obvious; of course it hasn’t changed, when would it have had the time to? It’s exactly as it was when you left it. Your clothes are still piled in the drawer, and the sheets in the bed still smell like home, rather than old and strange like they did when you came here with Frisk. 

You find your knitting needles wedged between the mattress and the wall. On some level you’d expected them to be dusty, but of course they’re not. They like new, a newly-started project wrapped around them. You can’t remember what it was supposed to be, so you probably never had the time to finish it. 

Toriel keeps chocolate in the fridge for you. You remember, she never stopped doing that, not even after… everything. 

It is  _ the same _ , they are all  _ the same _ and they are talking to you as if you are too, and it is breaking you, just a little. This place is stagnant, suspended in time. 

Some days you can’t look them in the eyes. Looking at Asriel at  _ all _ is bordering on impossible, and talking to him is worse. He still  _ looks up to you,  _ impossibly, blissfully unaware of everything you have done to hurt him, all the ways you have screwed everything up, the way you were ultimately responsible for his  _ death.  _ It is difficult to face Asgore and Toriel, too, but. You could fix that, you could undo those mistakes, you and Frisk, together, could set that right. 

At the time you thought it got you one step closer to some sort of redemption. 

Even so, staying here, being with them… It’s like living among ghosts. (You’re not certain who is less real; them, or you.) 

You deal with it about as well as you’ve always dealt with anything, which is to say, disastrously poorly. You avoid Asriel more often than not,claiming that you’re tired, you have a headache, you need to go over that thing Toriel talked about during your lessons yesterday one more time (and he brightens up and says  _ that’s okay, we can do it together! _ and the way his face falls when you make it clear that  _ no _ , you want to be  _ alone _ , would break your heart if you had one). 

Avoiding Asriel leaves you with frustratingly few options to keep yourself occupied - and you do need to occupy yourself, or your thoughts threaten to drag you to places you never want to go again. Reading or studying isn’t tactile enough. You need to  _ do _ something, you’re crawling out of your skin with the need to be  _ active _ , but there are so very few things you  _ can _ do. You clean your room several times over. You knit until your fingers start cramping. You even brave the garden again, pulling up weeds with vehemence.

During one of these desperate searches for household chores you find yourself in the kitchen, just as Toriel is preparing dinner. She pauses as she sees you, greeting you warmly. She does not ask if you want to help, though she does invite you to stay and observe. 

You do. 

...she’s making snail pie. You still remember how it’s done, though she is faster than you and Frisk were. Practice makes perfect, and all that.

Some ways through the preparations Asgore calls her over to the door - there’s someone there to talk to her about something that sounds vaguely important, but also extremely irrelevant. Toriel quickly washes her hands and gives you a pat on the head that pretty much translates to ‘run and play’ before exiting the kitchen.

And then it’s just you. 

You really need something to do.

The cutting board is left unattended. It’s practically begging for your attention.

Sneaking a peek out from the kitchen, you confirm that Toriel is still deep in conversation with her visitor, though you can’t hear what they’re discussing. There’s only a few steps up to the counter, and you know this, know how to do this - there’s no mallet but you figure you can just sort of use the flat side of the knife, and put some weight on it, if you’re careful. Working with your own hands is a bit different than it was with Frisk’s, but soon enough you’ve found the trick, methodically working your way through the bucket. The knife feels steady in your hand; it’s a good one, even though it isn’t  _ yours.  _

You’re about halfway through the bucket when there comes a sudden gasp from behind you, yanking you back into awareness of your surroundings. Your concentration slips.

So does the knife. 

You cry out, more in surprise than in pain, as it skids off the shell and onto your hand, slicing across your fingers. Blood wells up along the cut, shortly followed by pain. How strange, you think, detached. How strange… 

It seems somehow  _ sharper _ when Frisk isn’t there to share it with you. 

Toriel - because of course it’s her, who else? - exclaims in distress and kneels beside you, grabbing your hand to examine your injury. 

“You have hurt yourself!,” she frets. “You must allow me to heal you at once.”

“I’m alright, really,” you murmur, fighting the instinct to defensively rip your hand from her grasp and cradle it against your chest. “It’s just a scratch, m-Toriel, I’ve had worse-”

You fall silent as she gives you a stern glance, turning your hand over in her grasp, and then calling up her magic to heal you. It tingles, and then the wound is gone without a trace, no chance of scarring at all. 

“There…” she murmurs. “I believe that should do it. Does it still hurt at all?”

You experimentally flex your fingers and form a fist before shaking your head. “No, it’s fine.” There’s no pain left either. No pain, no scar, nothing but a small bloodstain on your sleeve. Like it never happened. “… thank you.” 

“It is no trouble.” Satisfied that you’re all healed up, she stands back up. “I apologise - I startled you. I should not have left you unattended in the first place.” 

You frown, staring down at the floor. Her voice loses none of its worry, but gains more than a hint of exasperation.

“...Chara. We have talked about this.” 

_ This,  _ you realise after a short moment of reflection, is not the cooking, but the knives. You’re not supposed to use them. You’re not allowed near sharp objects without supervision. (Toriel has taken great care to make sure there’s few, if any, sharp objects in the house at all.)

“I know,” you say. “I forgot.”

You did. It’s been… 

Frisk does not have the same restrictions as you do. It’s been, for lack of a better word,  _ freeing _ to be  _ trapped _ inside them. It’s… easier, when you are two.

You are not the same child you were when you lived here. You have been with Frisk, travelling with them, helping them, been a  _ part  _ of them, for much too long not to be different. 

Somehow, along the way, you suppose you must have grown. 

You don’t remember how to act, who they are expecting you to be. You don’t remember who you are when you aren’t Frisk’s co-pilot. 

Toriel hums noncommittally, bringing you back to the present. 

“Are you alright?” she asks, with what seems to you a frankly unreasonable amount of worry.

“...yes?” you say, uncertain, before you realise what she’s getting at. You straighten up, doing your best to look her in the eyes when you respond. “I’m fine. It was an accident, honest.”

She nods, seemingly willing to accept your claim at face value. “Please be more careful in the future, my child. We all care about you very much.” 

“I will be,” you say, and it feels half a lie. “... I care about you too.”

“Well,” she says, visibly pulling herself back to her good mood. You decide to follow suit. “Regardless, I’m afraid we shall have to cut this particular cooking session short. Do you know why?”

There’s that particular glint in her eye and she’s barely even trying to hide her grin. You ask anyways. “Why?”

“Because I  _ goat _ -a go.”

You stifle a snort and smile widely at her. “That one was bad even for you, mom. You could even say it was…  _ sans _ ationally awful.” You wait for the giggle, but none comes. She just looks mildly puzzled, and with a painful twinge in your chest you realise: this Toriel has never met Sans.  (has never met Frisk)

You wave her goodbye and you go to your room and pull the covers over your face and you try not to scream. 

\----------------------

_ This time, they do not fear the flower. Toriel comes to save them and you look at her, you  _ **_look at her,_ ** _ you try to see through the smile, through the act of care and compassion, through her  _ **_lie._ **

_ The kid takes her hand even though they’re trembling, and she leads them just as before. _

_ There’s the first froggit, and you tighten your grip around the stick and tell the kid  _ **_here, like this,_ ** _ and then there is only dust. Toriel tries to chastise them and all you can think is  _ **_hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite._ **

_ She leaves you alone and everything turns to dust in your path. It’s easy, so easy. You think it may have been the easiest thing you’ve ever done.  _ **_Prove yourself,_ ** _ she’d said, and you are, you  _ **_are._ ** _ The dust covers everything, sticking to your boots like mud, and it doesn’t matter, none of it  _ **_matters,_ ** _ how could any of this matter when you don’t even  _ **_care?_ ** _ You hit them and they crumble and with each one you grow stronger, with each one it gets easier.  _

**_I- I want to stop,_ ** _ the kid tells you, when you’re nearly done, when there can’t possibly be that many left.  _

**_No,_ ** _ you tell them dismissively.  _ **_We can’t stop now. She’s stronger than both of us, remember? If we try again like this she’ll kill us. Do you want to_ ** **die** **_again?_ **

_ You throw the memory of the fire at them, the pain, and they flinch and nearly whimper.  _

**_Of course I don’t!_ ** _ they protest. _ **_But I don’t- I don’t think I like this plan anymore--_ **

_ The phrasing and their tone is so shatteringly familiar and you don’t want to remember. Your vision goes blindingly white and you shout at them to  _ **_shut up, shut up SHUT UP_ ** _ until they stop talking and stop interfering and  _ **_leave you alone,_ ** _ until they retreat to a corner of your shared mind and you can barely feel them anymore.  _

_ The following encounter you hit twice as hard and don’t bother dodging. The pain is insignificant, you have enough of a HP buffer that the damage is negligible, and if the kid winces when you let them back in and they have to walk on their scraped-up legs again,  _ **_good_ ** _. They deserve it. _

_ You erase everyone, one by one, until the ruins are empty and there is nothing left, there is no one left, you are as strong as you can get and you are  _ **_ready._ ** _ You throw the stick away to replace it with the toy knife, which is not  _ **_good_ ** _ but will have to be _ **_good enough_ ** _ , and then you enter Toriel’s house.  _

_ She gives you pie. You stow it away for later use. She tries to tell you things about snails, but neither of you care. She wants you to stay, but you can’t trust her anymore. The kid insists that they need to leave. _

_ You watch as her face goes stony and her gaze distant, follow her down into the basement where you ready the knife, held properly this time, facing her head-on as she pretends she’s doing it  _ **_for your own good,_ ** _ and you tap right back into that rage, and-  _

_ It only takes one blow.  _

_ Everything slows to a stop. Her eyes widen- she staggers backwards, and this time, when she looks at you, she  _ **_sees_ ** _ you. The kid wants to cover their eyes, look away, but you don’t even blink. _

_ “Y-you… really hate me that much…?” she says, voice thin and trembling. _

**_Yes_ ** _ , you think, at the same time as the human says  _ **_no._ ** _ Your fingers clench tighter around the knife.  _

_ “Now I see who I was protecting by keeping you here. Not you… but _ **_them_ ** _.” Her face twists into a desperate smile, she falls to her knees and you  _ **_know_ ** _ her now, you know her like you’ve never known her before as she dissolves into dust, soul floating up and cracking apart, and then she’s gone. _

_ The rage bleeds out of you, giving way to an aching emptiness. There is a void in you. You drop to your knees, hit the ground too hard but you don’t feel it, the pain is not enough to penetrate the numbness. You press your hand to the dust, spread all over the floor. It’s-  _ **_She’s-_ **

_ … but it’s just dust. You sift through it. It’s just dust. You smear your hand across your shirt - there’s a choked-off sound of protest but you push it away, you push them away - it’s just dust.  _

**_Who’s the monster now?_ **

_ There’s no reply, and you don’t care. There’s no one here to reply anymore, no one here except you, endless piles of dust, and the kid, who has gone entirely silent, save for what you think might be muffled sobs.  _

_ Somehow, you hadn’t expected you could actually do it.  _

**_It isn’t real,_ ** _ you tell them, but they don’t shut up. This isn’t real. None of this is real.  _

_ If it was real you would be _ **_feeling_ ** _ something.  _

_ You get back up, dispassionately stepping over the pile. You have a job to do. You’re getting out of here.  _

_ The door to the ruins open easily to your touch, releasing you out into the cold. You calculate the distance from here to the capital, wonder how many people- how many monsters could live in between here and there, wonder how many of them you’d have to dust to get strong enough. Conclude probably a lot.  _

_ You’re going to need a sharper knife. _

 

* * *

 

The incident in the kitchen is not an isolated occurrence. There are a myriad ways that you don’t quite fit right anymore, where your edges bump against the accommodations they have made for the Chara that fell down for what feels like (and in a way really is) a lifetime ago, and it  _ chafes _ . 

You cut down on conversations. You keep avoiding Asriel. 

You meet your own gaze in the mirror and your skin is too pale, your hair hangs too flat, and there’s no one else looking out at your from behind those eyes.  _ It’s me _ , you think helplessly, it’s you, it’s you, this was only ever you and now you are  _ alone _ and how are you supposed to bear that? How are you supposed to live with that, when you barely ever wanted to live to begin with?

This place isn’t  _ real.  _ It’s some ironic twist of fate, some sick joke the world is playing on you - dangle everything you’ve ever wanted right before your eyes and make it absolutely  _ unbearable _ and see how long you make it before you off yourself again, before you… 

before you-

You don’t know how to function without Frisk anymore, and you have always been, at the very core of you, a selfish creature. 

You only know of one way to make sure you get to meet them again. 

There are buttercups in the garden. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unpleasantness: chara accidentally cuts themself, vague references to self harm, aaaand chara's memories of their & frisk's first run, which included delightful events like death by fire magic, thanks toriel, and starting a genocide route. fun for the whole family. 
> 
> ((my friend and pretty much beta-reader, ill337erate, assures me it IS possible to die by toriel even as an accident. i have chosen to take her word for it because she is, as a general rule, right :p )) 
> 
>  i made an undertale blog! come join me over at youngwills.tumblr.com to see me cry about chara, and probably talk about this fic a bit. (let's face it though it's gonna be 90% crying about chara)
> 
> i honestly cannot overstate how much your comments mean to me, they are my joy and my lifeblood, so i'd like to take a moment to say THANK YOU to everyone who's read and commented so far, even if i haven't personally replied to your comment. i promise i love u anyways. it's just i don't always know what to say.  
> until next time, everyone!  
> ((next time, which is guaranteed to be happy fun times and no pain at all. haha. hahahahahahahah))


	6. to action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frisk is Productive, and meets an old friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi  
> here's some plot (to contrast chara's chapters, which are 0% plot 100% emotional breakdowns.)

The first elevator is still overgrown with vines from last time - Alphys frowns when she sees it, wondering aloud when that happened, and you can’t help but feel slightly guilty for not telling them _everything_ when you told them about Chara. You justify it to yourself by remembering that you’re not _sure_ he’s even still _here,_ and it would be an awful thing to give everyone false hope.

“With some time we should be able to clear this off,” Alphys muses, “But I’m not sure how it’ll look inside, or if it’s even still functional like this… “

“Eh,” says Sans, “Let’s just take the one in the lab instead.”  

Alphys agrees, although hesitantly, and she frowns at the barred doors before you leave.

It feels strange to travel through the Underground in what you can’t help but think of as ‘in reverse’, but Alphys and Sans know all the best ways to get places, and now that she’s not trying to make you the hero to her technobabble sidekick, Alphys is a decent guide, and you make it through both the Core and Hotland in no time. It all seems so much bigger now that there’s no monsters bumping into you every couple of steps. Seeing it so empty is _weird_ \- but you imagine it must be stranger for Sans and Alphys than it is for you, so you don’t mention it.

(You keep an eye out on the way there, scrutinizing your surroundings as discreetly as you can. Sometimes you think you see signs - a turned over table, a broken vase - but nothing conclusive, and not a glimpse of _him._ )

Alphys’ lab is, of course, right where it’s always been. The doors slide open when you approach them - and that’s where your luck runs out.

When Alphys leads you over to the elevator to the lab (the _other_ lab), it’s not there, and when she presses the button to call it up, it doesn’t come. She makes a distressed sound and tries again (and then three more times in quick succession). Nothing happens.

“I don’t understand,” she says, clearly upset. “It should be working - I’m _sure_ I left the power on! Maybe it’s having some sort of malfunction… ”

“But… the elevators on the way here were fine,” you say.

“The lab has a separate power source. It’s been around a bit longer than the rest of it,” Sans explains.

“It has?”

“‘Course. Most of the Underground is powered by the Core, but that hasn’t been here forever, you know? Had to have somewhere to think it up, test the methods, that kind of thing.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” you say. It seems obvious in retrospect, but… Normally you don’t _have_ to think of things like that; Chara tends to volunteer information more often than not, and you’re just… freeloading. When something trips you up you just ask them, and sometimes they’ll be sort of condescending and preachy about it, but as long as they know the answer they’ll still explain.

If you focus really hard you can almost hear them call you an idiot for not realising the Core didn’t just magically pop into existence like you sort of imagine all of the Underground having done.

 _I’m not as used to magic as you are,_ you think at your imaginary Chara. _You’ve been around it for a lot longer._

 _Was that supposed to be an excuse? You’ve been living with Toriel for months,_ imaginary Chara snarks back.

It almost makes you feel a bit better.

“Is there another way down?”

“N-not really,” Alphys says, lips twisting into a brittle, self-deprecating smile. “I thought about, ladders or something, just in case, but then the amalgamates, and everything… Couldn’t risk them getting out. Couldn’t even leave the elevator down there, had to send it up every time. Which is why it should _be_ here… “

She frowns at the elevator, mumbling to herself.

“There shouldn’t be anyone down here, I can’t think who would’ve used it… “

 _I can,_ you think, a longing rushing through you - but just an echo, now, of what it used to be, not a whirlpool dragging you under anymore, now that it’s just you and not Chara. You’re able to shrug it off. “How do we get the elevator working again?”

“I, don’t think we can?” Alphys wrings her hands. “I-I mean, most of my equipment is either up on the surface or down in the lab itself, so I don’t really have anything to fix it _with…_ “

“Oh,” you say, biting your lip. You guess it’d be too much to ask for anything involving this place to ever be _easy_. Elevator not working, no other way down… You nod resolutely and glance around you, soon locating a thin but sturdy piece of metal almost as long as you’re tall. Gritting your teeth and nodding at the others to help you, you jam it in the gap between the elevator doors.

With a bit of effort, you manage to pry the them open. Carefully looking into the elevator shaft, you quickly locate the wires pulling the elevator up and down - and just as quickly conclude that you probably wouldn’t be able to get a good enough grip on them to climb down. An attempt to catch a glimpse of the elevator itself reveals the shaft to be very dark, and very deep.

You let go of the wall and very deliberately take a long step away from the gap.

“W-well,” says Alphys. “It was a good idea, Frisk!”

You shrug half-heartedly. “Didn’t work, though.” Then you pull yourself out of the despair threatening to swallow you, with a _keep it together, Frisk_ , and start brainstorming for alternate solutions.

You can’t stop. You can’t _afford_ to stop. You have to keep going, have to stay in motion, because as long as you don’t stop that means there’s still a chance. As long as you keep moving there’s still hope. As long as you keep moving you’ll still believe you can bring them back.

“Ropes,” you say, trusting them to understand.

Alphys nods.

“I’m not sure I- I might not have any, but I’m sure I’ll be able to scrounge something up-”

You shake your head, and then, twisting it off your back,  your backpack, at her. The piece of rope is still inside.

“Oh!” she exclaims, actual understanding dawning. Then she grimaces. “Sorry, Frisk. It’s pretty far down… I don’t think it will be long enough.”

Your breath wooshes out of you in a sigh and you drop the rope on the ground, shoulders slumping. The backpack goes back on.

“Sorry,” Alphys says again. You twitch your lips into a quick smile to let her know it’s alright.

Beside her, Sans is watching you intently enough to make your skin crawl. You fight down a shiver, opting instead to tilt your head in an obvious ‘ _What?’_

“I could float you down,” he offers, faux-casually.

You blink. “You can do that?”

“What, you thought Papyrus was the only one with gravity magic?” He winks at you. “Nah, I just don’t use mine much. This seems a good enough reason to, though. You wanna go first?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay then,” he says, and… nothing happens. You tilt your head further. Your neck is craning sort of comically now. (If Chara were here, they’d make a joke about Lesser Dog.)  

“C’mon kid, can’t expect me to float you _all_ the way down. Gotta do some of the work yourself.”

You inch closer to the elevator shaft and throw a glance down into it. It remains just as deep as before. You give Sans a stare that hopefully conveys just how sceptical you are to this idea.

“Go on,” he says. “Promise I’ll catch you.”

That’s practically a dare.

“U-um, I’m sure we can find another option if you just, give me a minute,” Alphys says, but you shake your head. Your mind is made up.

Besides, you’re pretty sure you’ve survived higher falls.

With that thought, you jump over the edge and into the shaft.

There’s a rather startled yelp from Alphys, an fraction of a second where you’re weightless, suspended mid-air, and then you’re falling, the walls rushing past you, top of the elevator getting closer. For a moment you consider what would happen if Sans decided not to catch you - what it would do to you, to fall from such a height with no determination to help you power through, and how that would mean the absolute end of all resets - and then he does, blue magic hooking into your soul yanking you to a stop and you float the last bit, feet gently touching down.

“Thanks!” you call up to them.

“No prob,” comes the calm reply. Alphys mutters something you can’t discern, far less calmly.

“C-can you see what’s wrong with it?” she asks. You shrug, before remembering they probably can’t see you all that well from up there.

“No idea,” you say. It’s not like you would’ve been able to fix it anyways. Probably.

“Alphys, you wanna go next?” Sans is asking up above.

“Um… I’d really rather not.”

“Oh well. Guess we’ll have to figure out another solution either way. Sorry, Frisk!” he calls down.

“No worries,” you reply absentmindedly. If you’re not wrong, there should be a way to get into the actual elevator from here… There! A heavy-looking hatch is placed on the floor, right next to you. (Or. well. Roof, really.) You walk on over to it and give it an experimental yank. It budges. If you use a bit more force…

“Just sit tight and we’ll be right down.”

“Nah,” you reply, with some effort managing to pull the hatch open. You peer into the elevator. It’s empty. “I’m gonna go in!”

“Welp,” says Sans. “Tori’s gonna kill me.”

You giggle, and drop down into the lab itself.

Experimentally you press one of the buttons inside the elevator. They’re dull and grey and not working - just like the first time you ended up down here. You assume the power is out again.

As soon as you set foot in there, you regret not waiting for the other two. The lab is as gloomy and unsettling as it’s ever been, and even reminding yourself that nothing here can hurt you now, you’re scared. With every step echoing eerily in the darkness, convincing yourself to keep moving further down the hallway is a challenge. You don’t like being here alone. (You don’t like being alone, full stop.)

You bite your lip, folding your arms around you in a cheap imitation of a hug. (Sometimes when Chara did it it would help. Now it’s just an empty gesture.) Your breaths are too loud, everything else too quiet. You force yourself to break the silence with a whisper.

“Asriel?”

There’s no reply, so you raise your voice a bit, try again.

“Asriel, are- are you there?”

Your heart starts sinking in your chest. Maybe you were wrong? But- no, it couldn’t be anyone else, it _has_ to be him. There’s no one else left in the Underground, no one else who could have sent the elevator down in the first place...

“Asriel!” you say again, this time much closer to a call.

“Jeez, you don’t have to _shout_.” Your heart jumps in your chest, feet almost tripping over each other as you twist around, and there he is.

He’s… a flower again. You can’t tell if the rush of emotion you feel at that realisation is relief or despair, but it doesn’t matter. He’s alive. You break into a huge smile.

“Asriel, I-”

“Don’t _call_ me that,” he snaps, and you make a pacifying gesture.

“Sorry,” you say, still smiling. “Sorry. Flowey.”

“That’s _better_ ,” he mutters, eyeing you suspiciously. His vines are curled tightly around his body in an obvious sign of discomfort. “Why are you _here_?”

Your smile nearly slips off your face, but you fix it in place, hoping he won’t notice. “Exploring,” you say, as cheerfully as you can manage.

He scoffs. “What, didn’t get enough the first time around? _What a shame._ ” He makes an admirable attempt at morphing his face into something more frightening, but when you just keep smiling he gives up and slumps down. He can’t really scare you that way anymore. Not even down here.

“Why are _you_ down here?” you ask him in return. He looks away from you, glaring at the wall like it’s personally offended him instead.

“None of your business.”

You shrug. Fair enough, you suppose?

“That’s okay,” you say levelly, and keep walking into the lab. You’re not sure what Alphys wanted you to see down here, but you figure you’re pretty good at wandering blindly by now. Besides, worst case scenario you can at least try to turn the power back on.

It’s only when you’re almost all the way down the hallway you realise Flowey hasn’t followed you. You turn back to look at him, suddenly uncertain.

“You’re not coming?”

“Why _would_ I?”

“I’d appreciate the company,” you say quietly, thinking being with him would be worlds better than the _loneliness_ , and then, more confident, “Besides, aren’t you bored?”

“....fine,” he says, with great reluctance. You count that as a win.

Done with speaking for the moment, you expectantly gesture towards the other end of the corridor for him to lead the way, but he doesn’t move. He looks almost embarrassed.

“Yeah, well,” he says, sullenly, “The floor here is hard and it’s a bit difficult to move when I can’t burrow into the ground, okay? Took me like a _week_ to get here.”

Critical thinking leads you to believe laughing would not help the situation, so you’re very careful not to show any sign of mirth on your face as you walk back, bend down, and stretch your arm out towards him.

“What are you doing?” he demands. You insistently nod towards your arm until he groans and pulls himself off the floor and onto you.

“This is so humiliating,” he mutters. You beam and pat his head appeasingly. There’s a small adjustment period as you try to figure it out, and then he finds his balance on your shoulder, grasping the straps of your backpack. (You sort of want to ask if the view is nicer from up here, but then he might _actually_ try to strangle you.)

After another moment to let him settle, you start heading into the lab proper. The greyed out screens lining the walls stay dark and grey, but you don’t really care. You’ve no interest in reading them this time.

You don’t really get far this time either. Just down the corridor and around it is a door - the one you had to spend so much effort on getting past last time, with the coloured lights to indicate if it had power or not.

They’re not glowing now, but that’s not the first thing you notice.

The door isn’t closed.

It’s cracked open, just a couple of inches, a small stripe of  light shining through. The crack is far too thin for you to be able to get past - you experimentally push your hand through it, and get as far as your elbow before it almosts gets stuck and you pull back out - but someone smaller than you, like, say, a flower…

Flowey fidgets on your shoulder.

 _‘What were you doing in there?’_ you sign, but he ignores you. (Or maybe he doesn’t know sign language. You’re not sure, and you’re too tired to push.)

“I won’t be able to get them open any further than that,” he says instead.

Neither will you, without proper leverage. You sigh.

Guess you really will have to fix the power again. Or find something sturdy that’d help you get them open the rest of the way. Whichever comes first.

At least exploring the lab is easier now. There’s still - a hole in you, Flowey can’t fill that, but this is better, like you knew it would be. He makes snarky comments and tells you to hurry up when he thinks you’re being too slow, and if there’s no warmth or affection behind them, well.

Well.

It’s still better.

(Anything would be better than the way you feel without them.) 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're still here, there aren't even words for how much i love you. extra super many apologies to a_nervous_fan - i really dropped the ball for quite a bit there, huh? can't promise i have it back under control, but i swear, i'm trying.   
> ((i'd also like to officially apologise for the times i don't reply to a comment - i read and appreciate each and every one, and by 'appreciate' i mean 'fights the urge to print out and glue to my wall to remind me that i'm worth something'. you're all wonderful. thank you.))
> 
> next chapter on friday, maybe saturday. punch me if i forget.


	7. repeat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *deep breath* IT'S FRIDAY, FRIDAY--- i'm sorry i'll show myself out 
> 
> ;u; so many of you are still here. that means so incredibly much to me <3 <3 <3 
> 
> today we're back to chara (which means we're back to 90% emotional anguish mixed with flashbacks, and dubiously reliable narrative. they think they're being honest with themself but honestly child who are you kidding pls just sit down for a bit. have some tea. get some sleep. have u considered a therapist---)

You can do this.

The buttercups are still in the garden, luminously (sickeningly) yellow against the grass. Asgore and Toriel are just as easy to mislead as you remember, not suspecting anything when you grab their son and pull him out to the gardens, thinking it nothing out of the ordinary. Asriel- Asriel-

Asriel still _trusts_ you. Wholly, unwaveringly.

(You were never worthy of his trust. Now less than ever.)

It’s not going to be difficult. It was never difficult. He looks you in the eyes with _devotion_ , and you… You know the steps, have danced this dance before. It was always easy to know which buttons to press. Easy. So _easy._

You bite your lip until it bleeds, stare right through him, and tell him what needs to be done.

 

* * *

 

_The snow outside the ruins reaches above your ankles, piling up in the kid’s trainers and soaking through the hems of their pants. It doesn’t slow you down, doesn’t hinder you. You barely even feel it._

_There’s a skeleton and his brother (who, coincidentally, is also a skeleton). They talk for too long and try to make you solve useless puzzles. You don’t have time for that. You don’t care. It’s unimportant._

_You need to be stronger._

_There is no sharper knife to be found. There are boxing gloves, which are not as good but that’s alright, because you don’t seem to_ **_need_ ** _good, and if you have to choose, the toy knife will do. Nothing here presents even the shadow of a challenge. You touch them, and they crumble. Even the slightest nudge is enough. (Occasionally, the kid tries to say something, ask you to stop, says this is enough, it’s_ **_enough -_ **

_it isn’t enough._

_There is a bubble around you, a crystalline dome they cannot penetrate, and you wall them off from you, wall them_ **_in_ ** _so you don’t have to hear it anymore.)_

 

* * *

 

You make your heart into steel, into _stone_ . You are unshakable, to the point where you sometimes feel like you’re not there at all, like you’re about to dissolve at any moment. It’s dreadful, the thing you’re about to do, awful, unforgivable - but that’s okay. That’s as it should be. You’ve always known you’re a terrible person. You’ve done worse. _You’ve done worse._

(You repeat this to yourself, over and over, but you still can’t bring yourself to hold his gaze. Tell yourself he’s not _real,_ he’s not _really real,_ just a feeble copy of the boy you once betrayed, but you still can’t do it. You’re not strong enough.

God, you’ve grown so _weak_ without them.)

There is nothing inside you, no soul no heart, you're just an empty shell echoing the same words you said so long ago. The script is simple. _It’ll be alright. We’ll be together. It’s the only way to free them, Asriel, we can make everything right, Asriel, we can do this together,_ **_Asriel-_ **

You say your lines with as much conviction as you can muster, navigating around his reluctance. _It’s the only way,_ you try to make him believe. It’s true. You know it’s true.

“You’re the only one who can help me, Asriel,” you say, hitting where you know will work, has always worked, and then, the final nail in the coffin: “ _Please_.”

You raise your head for the last part, know you need to look him in the eyes for it to be as effective as possible, but he’s not looking at you. He’s looking at the ground, brow knitted in a pensive frown. Your breath catches in your chest.

“If we do this,” he says, slowly, tentatively, after a too-long silence, “Will you tell me what’s really wrong?”

Everything grinds to a stop. “What,” you manage to force out past wooden lips. He’s not following the script. He’s not- this isn’t how it’s supposed to-

“You’ve been… weird…” It clearly takes effort to say. A quick glance reveals he’s still frowning at the ground, staring the weeds down as if they could somehow explain to him what’s going on. “And I know you don’t like talking about things like that, I’m not going to make you talk, I just- You’re my best friend, Chara. I just want you to be okay,” he concludes weakly.

His best friend. His _best friend._

That’s not what he’s supposed to say. That’s something _you_ might say, if you felt the need to, if it was _needed._ It’s not needed now. _You don’t need this now._

You could fake it for a copy. You could make yourself hard and untouchable and relentless for a copy, a repeat performance, stumble through the motions of a re-run, but. But. If he’s deviating from the script, then that makes him a _person._

Your hands are shaking.

You try to shut that line of thought down, crush it under the weight of your need. You need to see Frisk again. You need to _be_ with Frisk again, you’re nothing without them, you’re not, but-

but Frisk----

 _Frisk wouldn’t want this._ The thought is a flash of lightning, momentarily blocking every other thought out. _Frisk would never want me to do this._ Frisk was different. Even when everything seemed hopeless, when there was nothing left, they’d…

 

* * *

 

 

 _When the town is empty at last and the power is coursing through your veins you set off to the next area only to be halted by the tall skeleton again. You stand before him, blank-faced and empty-eyed as he tries to offer you meaningless guidance, tries to offer you_ **_friendship._ **

_You don’t need friends. You don’t need tutors. Once, you had both of these things, and it gave you_ **_nothing._ **

_You raise your knife._

**_Stop!_ ** _the kid says, with actual force behind the word. It leaves a crack in the wall between you._

_Your knees lock up. You can’t step forward._

**_Let go._ **

**_No._ ** _Their brief victory seems to have given them courage. Their presence is steadier now, solidating as they speak._ **_I don’t want to. I want to stop._ **

**_I don’t_ ** **care** **_what you want,_ ** _you hiss, but your legs still refuse to move. You scream wordlessly in frustration. The kid winces but does not waver. In front of you, the skeleton flinches, but he keeps his arms extended, shivering but not from cold._

_He says, “I still believe you can be a good person!”_

_Something in you trembles._

**_I thought you wanted to be strong,_ ** _you spit at the kid. It doesn’t deter them._

**_If this is what strength means then I don’t want it anymore!_ **

**_Well_ ** **tough luck!** **_You’re_ ** **stuck with me!**

 **_That doesn’t mean I have to accept your way of doing things,_ ** _they say stubbornly._

 **_There’s no such thing as ‘my way’,_ ** _you snarl back._ **_If you want to leave, this is the_ ** **only** **_way!_ **

**_I don’t believe that._ **

_You can’t tell if it’s them thinking it or you, but underneath you hear it, clear as day:_ **_I don’t believe you._ **

_They say,_ **_There’s always a way. We have a_ ** **choice** **_. And I choose… not this. Not like this._ **

**_And if there isn’t?_ ** _Bitterness permeates your every word._

 **_There is. There will be._ ** _They pause, but not with hesitance._ **_I’ll_ ** **make** **_there be._ **

_They really do believe it - believe it with a force that shakes you to your core._

_They believe in this the same way_ **_he_ ** _believed in_ **_you_ ** _\---_

 **_Fine,_ ** _you snarl out, furiously blinking tears away as you step down, step away, give up._

_Show MERCY._

_The wall crumbles, their mind and yours sharing the same space again as they regain full control of their body. They take a few deep breaths, slowly, deliberately, and then they unbend their fingers, dropping the knife to the ground. You can’t even muster the energy to feel anything about it._

_To their relief, the skeleton stays true to his word. He does not attack them, even as they stand defenseless. He lets them pass, just as he said he would. It’s- (pathetic, it’s_ **_pathetic,_ ** _it’s weakness and_ **_weakness cannot survive--_ ** _) you don’t know what it is, and you stubbornly refuse to analyse the hollow burning at the pit of your stomach. You were doing the right thing - better than that, you were doing the only thing that makes_ **_sense._ **

_That line of thinking is making your head hurt, so you shut it down and talk to the kid again. They haven’t moved from after the battle, not even to move onto the next area._

**_Now what?_ ** _This time they actually do hesitate, if only for a few seconds._

 ** _The thing you did back in the ruins._** **_Do it again._**

 **_Why?_ ** _you jeer._ **_Not brave enough to face the consequences of your actions?_ **

_They don’t say ‘_ **_your_ ** _actions’, or even ‘_ **_our_ ** _actions’, even though they’d be well within their rights to._

 **_That’s not it,_ ** _they say softly._ **_It’s just… she deserves better than being dust. They all do._ **

_You’re glad you’re not in control of the body anymore. You think you’ve forgotten how to breathe._

**_She tried to kill you,_ ** _you point out._ **_They all tried to kill you._ **

**_And we_ ** **did** **_kill them,_ ** _they reply._ **_So now we’re… even. Or something like it._ **

**_Besides,_ ** _they add when you don’t respond._ **_That’s not who I want to be. It’s not who I want_ ** **us** **_to be. Will you help me make it right?_ **

**_Help you._ **

**_Yes._ **

**_...okay,_ ** _you say, and you reach out far back again, and you grab and you_ **_pull_ ** _, and their eyes blink open to see the sky far up above them again._

 **_Thank you,_ ** _they say, not a trace of irony._ **_...what’s your name?_ **

_You don’t have a name anymore, you_ **_shouldn’t_ ** _have a name anymore, you don’t_ **_deserve_ ** _a name anymore---_

_But they asked._

**_Chara. My name is Chara._ **

**_Chara,_ ** _they say._ **_It’s good to meet you._ **

**_… yeah. Whatever._ **

_You feel so hopelessly, utterly_ **_small._ **

 

* * *

 

 

There is a hacking, horrible sound ripping from your throat, and it takes you a while to realise you’re laughing. You need your hands to stop shaking, so you wrap them around yourself, dig your nails into your arms, hard as you can. You want out of your own head, want it so badly you can almost feel it happening, so light-headed you feel about to slip out of existence, but there’s nowhere else to go, not anymore. There’s just here. Just you.

Asriel is frozen before you. You look at him, really look, and you know. You _know._ That’s it, then. You can’t do it. Even now, even with this, you have failed.

(Maybe the greatest failure was contemplating this at all. Maybe falling so low, after all the progress you’d made, was a sign that you were always doomed to fail, that you _had_ to fail, because if people like you ever got to succeed, that would be a certain sign the world really _is_ as rotten as you’ve always believed...)

You’ve failed, and you’re never going to see them again, and it serves you right. Maybe you’ll grow old here. Maybe you’ll find a way to end it before then. You don’t know, and it doesn’t matter, because you’ll never see them again and you don’t _deserve_ to see them again, just like you don’t deserve Asriel’s attention or affection or time-

Asriel is crying. You have, once again, made him cry.

With some effort, you push yourself far enough back into your that you can unclench your hands, take a breath again. “It’s okay Asriel,” you press out. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” he sobs. “It’s not okay, it’s - don’t _lie_ to me!”

You let it run off you. Untouchable. _Untouchable._ “Don’t be such a crybaby.” You say it with affection, you’re sure you do, but it still makes him sob harder. “No, no, ‘Ree, I’m sorry, I just- come here -” you shuffle closer to him, pull him closer to you, hold him close, smooths down the fur over his ears “-shh. Shh. It’s okay.”

You keep hushing and holding him, operating on autopilot. You’ve hurt him. No matter what you do, you just keep hurting him. You just keep hurting _everyone._

You’ll stay away from him, for real this time. Your initial instincts were right. You’ll stay away, and you won’t hurt him anymore, and it will be okay. It will be as close to okay as you can make it.

You’re not going to be selfish anymore, and things will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see you in... a week, hopefully? potentially not bc exams and i'd rather stay a bit ahead still. fingers crossed. 
> 
> (normal commenting rules apply, you do, in fact, still make my day with them. wooo.)
> 
> ((....if you want more of this kind of chara anguish, fic rec: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9611222 ))


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i shouldn't be posting this bc I haven't finished next chapter yet and I promised myself I'd have a buffer   
> also I'm not actually done with my essays (which is getting quite nerve-wracking, considering they're due tonight + day after tomorrow. oops? WISH ME LUCK GUYS) _but consider_ : i needed a distraction. so now i'm distracting you. 
> 
> WE GOT PLOT HAPPENING TONIGHT GANG

Flowey’s company keeps being better than nothing, holding the loneliness at bay as you keep exploring the (still too empty & quiet) lab. He chatters inanely, half of it being pretty insulting, but it fills the silence, so you’re satisfied. As you enter one room, the chatter cuts off mid-sentence, and Flowey curls up closer to your neck. You start in on asking him what’s wrong, but your voice gets stuck in your throat before you get a single syllable out. You hadn’t realised where you were. The room is small, and at the far end of it is a TV, with an accompanying VHS player and a collection of old tapes. 

Oh…  

When you first entered these rooms, watched these tapes, Chara had gone completely quiet for the entire time. They wouldn’t respond or react no matter how you prodded them. You’d still been able to  _ feel _ them, at the back of your mind, they were still  _ there _ , they were just… quiet. Distant. 

Solemn. 

Flowey is equally quiet now.

You trail your fingers over them, wonder if the VHS player still works. Think that tapes aren’t very heavy, don’t take up much space. Wonder if- If maybe you should- 

You tear your hand away and shove it in your pocket instead. No. If Asgore and Toriel are going to find out, they should be  _ told _ , not have it thrown in their faces like that, and you… 

Chara’s voice isn’t in those tapes. 

They’d be worthless to you.  

You turn your back on them and walk out of the room. 

“I know you’ve watched them,” Flowey says, once it’s safely behind you. “Did you… tell anyone…?” 

You shake your head no. Flowey uncurls slightly. “Oh,” he says. After that he tries to sound derisive again, but even you can tell his heart’s not in it. “Why not? Were you  _ scared? _ ” 

You shrug. You weren’t, not really - but Chara had been. 

“Of course you were,” he says, settling again. “ _ Wimp. _ ”

“Did you?” 

“Did I  _ what _ ?” 

“Ever talk about it.”

“That’s  _ none of your business _ ,” he hisses. You don’t push, and eventually he does talk again, although reluctantly. “...of course I did. I had a lot of time before  _ you _ fell into the Underground, y’know. I’ve done just about everything one time or the other. Wasn’t any point to it. Nobody  _ gets _ it.

“But I never told anyone about our plan back then. Chara was-” he starts, cutting himself off, and then trying again, “Chara was very particular about not letting anyone know. About it being our secret.” 

You nod. Flowey fidgets. “I liked that,” he confesses, low even though you’re the only two here. “At first I liked having a secret with them, a real one. And it was their plan, and their idea, so they made the rules. They always had… the best plans, and the best games.” 

He stops again. You stay quiet, let him have his time. Talking about this is obviously upsetting him, and to be honest it’s upsetting you too, but you’re too glad he’s opening up at all to interrupt him or risk scaring him off. (Even as it hurts, hearing him talk about Chara. Even as you feel  _ so guilty _ about everything you’re not telling him.)

“And maybe… maybe that wasn’t the best idea they’ve ever had, or, or a very good idea at all, and maybe Chara wasn’t always the  _ nicest _ person, but. But they were still  _ special _ , Frisk.” 

“I know,” you say automatically, because you do. Chara  _ is _ special. They always will be. 

“And for the longest time I kept thinking, maybe if I’d just  _ trusted _ them a bit more-” Flowey continues, and then he stops, abruptly, your words catching up with him. “ _ What did you say? _ ” 

You don’t respond, but it doesn’t seem to matter. 

“What do you mean  _ you know _ ,” he says, sounding a mix between suspicious and offended. “Who’s been talking about them with you? I know our  _ parents _ -” and the word is spit out with venom “-doesn’t talk about them anymore, I  _ tried _ , so  _ who?”  _

“No one,” you try to deflect.  “I just figured they’d have to be, for you to care about them so much.”

You’re a terrible liar. You can practically  _ feel _ Flowey glaring at you, even though you refuse to look at him.

“ _ Sure _ ,” he says, voice dripping with disbelief. “Come on, Frisk. Who? Gerson?”

You open your mouth to tell him something equally unconvincing when, saving your hide and scaring you half to death, a noise comes from somewhere else in the lab. It’s a high yelp and the loud clanging of metal on metal, like hitting an empty crate, and then a drawn out creak, overlaying a scraping sound. You freeze in place. It’s coming from the furthest hallway, the first one, leading to the room with the stuck door and the vending machine.

“No one else should be down here,” Flowey says. He’s quivering, but you can’t tell if it’s fear or agitation. “Go back.”

Reluctantly, you obey. Your heart is beating wildly as you move down the corridor, inch around the corner - and see Sans and Alphys, standing by the door, which is now wide open. 

Of course. That’s a way down, too.

You relax immediately, but on your shoulder, Flowey has gone ramrod-straight and tense as a bowstring. 

“What is  _ he _ doing here?” he hisses, petals quivering against your cheek. You try to look at him in askance but he’s twisted around on you somehow, curled up so your body is almost entirely blocking him from their view. 

“Sorry if we took long,” Alphys says apologetically. “There wasn’t anything long enough, a-and it would’ve taken even longer to find something else, so in the end we walked back to the first elevator - the vines were actually fairly easy to climb down, once we got the doors open, which would have gone by a lot faster if Sans had actually  _ helped _ …” she trails off, glaring at Sans, who just smiles amicably. 

“Hey, it all worked out. No harm done, right kid?” 

“No harm done,” you confirm. Alphys sighs, Sans winks at you - and then he catches sight of Flowey, despite the attempts to hide.

“Frisk, what’ve you got there?” he asks, approaching you.

“A friend,” you start, but your reply is cut short when Flowey vehemently snaps out “Stay  _ away _ from me!”

Sans stops a distance away from you, hands casually in his pockets. 

“A talking flower, huh?” he says, with the same intentful gaze he had before. Behind him Alphys has gone impossibly pale. 

Flowey presses himself closer to you, voice lowered to a whisper. “Reset, Frisk!” he urges. “Don’t let them see me, don’t-”

You shake your head. 

“Why  _ not _ ?” he asks incredulously.

You shrug, nearly dislodging him from your shoulder. There’s a certain level of naivety you won’t sink to even without Chara’s cynical influence, and telling Flowey that you  _ can’t _ reset anymore would certainly fit the bill. 

Instead, you reach up and smooth your hands over his petals, trying to console him. 

“Alphys, Sans,” you say, angling your body so they can see him better, even as he tries to keep out of their view, “This is Flowey. He’s my friend.” 

“Is he now,” Sans mumbles. 

“Yes,” you say, with conviction. 

“That’s right!” Flowey says, slowly unfurling, seeming to regain some of his confidence at that. “I’m Frisk’s  _ friend _ .” 

He’s almost sneering but that’s what you get with Flowey, really. 

“F-frisk,” Alphys starts, hesitantly, “Is that-” 

Flowey bristles. Sans nudges Alphys in the side. She falls silent. 

“Is that  _ what? _ ” Flowey says defensively. 

Alphys glances at Sans, then at you. She frowns. “...nevermind.” 

“Didn’t think there’d be anyone still down here,” Sans says lightly. “... but I figure you have your reasons, huh?”

“Yeah,” Flowey bites out, “I  _ do _ .” 

And then he curls back up on your shoulder, clearly signalling that’s all he’s going to say on the subject. Or any subject. 

“ … Talkative, huh?” 

You can’t help but feel uneasy, the strange tension seeping into you, too. You try to shake it off, but it’s difficult when you can’t actually move much for fear of bothering Flowey. It’s always easier for you to get your head straight when you can work through it physically too. 

“A-anyways!” Alphys exclaims. “Are you ready to head out, Frisk? You don’t need to rest or anything?” 

She’s… stalling. Your unease grows. You shake your head  _ no _ to answer her question, and then, unable to force yourself to speak, sign instead:  _ I’ve been through most of the lab already. What are we looking for, exactly?  _

“Um. Well-”

“You’ll see,” Sans cuts in, gesturing you to follow him before throwing Flowey another glance that obviously means something, though you can’t tell what. “I think that one knows exactly where we’re going, though. Isn’t that right?” 

Flowey frowns and unfurls slightly, seemingly scandalised enough to forget he’s supposed to be afraid. “Wait. Really?” 

“Frisk. Remember how we told you before that the lab, in part, has a separate power source to the rest of the Underground?” 

You nod cautiously. A terrible, ominous feeling has taken place at the bottom of your stomach. 

“The Core is a complicated structure,” he says. “Took quite some time for it to be built, or even invented.”

“Monster magic was a workable source for a while,” Alphys interjects, “But it had many limitations, and was draining to the point of being dangerous for the users, so for a very long time people were looking for an alternate solution-”

“Human souls are more durable,” Sans says bluntly. You can’t look at him. You can’t. “They sorta… replenish themselves. As long as you don’t drain it dry, determination trickles back in and it works remarkably well to power things up. Might not have been the most  _ humane _ solution, but-” 

Your brain stops registering his words. It’s all meaningless noise to you now. Your steps are mechanical, world swimming in front of you - you walk yourself through your memories of the first time you went here, walked down this path - you’d been so distracted, on high alert from fear but not having time to process any of the information properly, and there had been the screens, and the tapes, and the amalgamates-

-and at the end of this hallway, in that room where you had turned on the power, on the wall had been a machine, big and glowing and connected to all sorts of wires, and inside it, encased in glass, had been something suspiciously similar to a human soul. 

You break into a run. “Frisk, wait!” Alphys yelps behind you, but you’re already dashing down the hallway, leaving both of them behind you - Sans could get there before you without breaking a sweat, you’re sure, but he doesn’t try. You burst into the room, heart pounding - and then you freeze only a few steps into the room, heartbeat stuttering in your chest. The machine is empty, glass cracked, shards scattered on the floor, and there, floating a few inches above, is… 

“Chara?” you whisper, voice coming out frail and shaky. 

“See, that’s what  _ I _ thought,” Flowey says petulantly right by your ear. “But they won’t talk to me or anything! So I figured… maybe they really are gone.” 

You manage to stifle the whimper, but only just. You do  _ not _ manage to stop your knees from folding up beneath you, slumping to the ground. You can’t take your eyes off it. It’s like yours, the same colour and everything, but also… not. Its light has dulled, more of a shaky flickering than the steady glow you remember yours and the other human souls having. At times it seems almost transparent, fading out of view almost entirely, only to come back to looking solid a few moments later. 

You don’t know much about souls, but you don’t think they’re supposed to look like that. 

“So then I thought maybe, since it’s  _ them _ , they wouldn’t mind if I just… It wouldn’t exactly be the  _ first _ time, right?” Flowey continues. “But, well… See for yourself.”

He pulls himself off your shoulder and before you have time to react he’s by the soul, by  _ Chara’s _ soul, because it has to be theirs, it  _ has _ to, reaching out a leaf towards it and - as he touches it there’s a sharp pulse of light, a sound like a firecracker. Flowey quickly snatches his limb away again, waving it. It’s smoking,, but he doesn’t seem too badly hurt. 

“ _ That _ happens every time,” he grimaces. “... makes sense, I guess. They never liked me touching them when they were upset with me.”

_ They’re not upset with you _ , you want to say, but… you don’t actually know if that’s true. Right now, you can’t even bring yourself to  _ care.  _ Chara is- they’re  _ here _ , they’re-

\- alive. 

Chara is alive. (Or, at least, as alive as they’ve ever been.) They’re here, they’re alive, and - their soul is fading. 

As you stand there, frozen, it fades out of existence again, and your heart ties itself into a tight knot until it’s back. 

Alphys and Sans enter the room behind you. 

“Well, this is half a surprise,” Sans says, and Flowey immediately scuttles back over to you, placing himself so that you’re between the two of them again. 

You push up from the floor and turn around to face them. They knew. They  _ knew,  _ or at least suspected, and they just-

You can’t afford to think about that right now. 

‘ _ What’s it doing,’  _ you sign, movements flat and face expressionless.

Alphys gives Sans a look. “I’m, uh,” she says. “I’m not really sure? I’ve never seen one look like that before - it’s something of an unprecedented situation, we don’t really know-”

‘ **_Guess_ ** ,’ you sign, trying to put as much emphasis on it as possible. Alphys takes a deep breath.

“I think it’s… fading,” she says, and yeah, you could’ve told her that. “It’s been here for a long time, and I think... “

“We think maybe it’s just run out of juice,” Sans says. Alphys elbows him. 

“It’s possible that the years of prolonged use has, uh, weakened it, so that there isn’t enough left in it to, um, retain determination anymore,” she says, slightly more diplomatically. “Like it’s stopped producing it, or it can’t keep hold of what it does produce. It just drains away.” 

You shiver, and Alphys hesitates. “If that’s it, then… there isn’t really much we could do, Frisk. If it’s just that it can’t  _ produce _ it then maybe we could set up a sort of, transfusion between the two of you, but if it can’t  _ maintain _ it… there’s no way to set up a continuous transfer between people like that. 

‘ _ We could put their soul into my body,’ _ you argue. ‘ _ We could share.’  _

Alphys shakes her head. “You’re human, Frisk,” she reminds you gently. “Your body couldn’t manage two human souls at once. For a short while, maybe, but chances are you’d just break under the sustained pressure.”

_ I’d take that chance _ , you want to say, because the thought of letting Chara slip away from you when you could help them, no matter how much it’d cost you, makes you feel sick to your stomach.  _ I’d do it, I’d manage, I’d make it work even if it killed me -  _ but that’s hardly a convincing argument with this crowd, so you don’t try. 

‘ _ Give me the other option.’ _

“Well… Maybe it’s not that it’s worn out, maybe it’s that it’s, uh,  _ under-stimulated.  _ Maybe the sudden non-use of the core and the other functions it, ah, helps power, in addition to being disconnected from the machine, has sort of… unanchored it? Which would mean that it’s, drifting, in a way, and without a solid focus point it might not be able to find its way back... “ 

She trails off as you make your way over to the soul, glass shards crackling under your feet. 

“Might not wanna touch that,” Sans says cautiously. You remember what happened to Flowey. You don’t  _ care _ . 

You bend down, tensing for the shock - and your hands close around the soul without the burst of pain you were expecting. Instead, you lift it from the ground without trouble. It’s… not quite like holding something solid, it’s more… like how you’d imagine it would feel like to be a magnet. The soul forms a barrier between your palms, like a force field. It makes your skin buzz, but not in an unpleasant way. It feels like electricity. 

It’s warm. 

When you turn back around, they’re all staring at you. Alphys looks shocked, Flowey infuriated, and Sans… he looks more calculating than anything else. 

“Well then,” he murmurs, breaking the uneasy silence. “That sure makes things easier.”

Alphys gives a jerky nod. “”Y-yeah,” she stammers. “We might be able to make do without a containment jar if you can keep hold of it like that - does it-?”

“That’s not  _ fair _ !” Flowey bursts out. “ _ I’m _ their best friend, not  _ you _ ! Why would they let  _ you _ touch them?” 

Your shoulders hunch over defensively, shielding Chara’s soul even more. You’d have to let go of them to sign, and you don’t want to. You’re not  _ going _ to. Besides, it’s not like you  _ know the answer _ . It’s not like you have any better idea than he does-

-except you do, don’t you? He doesn’t have all the facts. Neither do you, but you have  _ more _ of them, and even though it’s not your secret to tell, even though Chara asked you not to… maybe he deserves to know? 

The decision is too much right now, so you pretend it doesn’t exist. You’ve more pressing concerns. 

“Can’t hear them,” you tell Alphys, instead of acknowledging Flowey at all. “Why?” 

“Uh…” Alphys starts, glancing uncertainly at him before replying. “I-I don’t. There’s, um, really no explanation for why you would be able to in the first place? With the other human souls there hasn’t really been a consciousness left behind, just an echo - a set of thought patterns, some feelings, maybe, but not… not the ability to communicate like that. So I don’t. Know why they’re not talking now. Um. If it really is… unanchored, that could be the problem? If it’s not all the way here, perhaps the consciousness is… somewhere else. There are tests we could run, to trace the signature, but, um…” 

Chara’s soul pulses once and then vanishes again, this time being near-gone for almost 5 seconds. You count. 

“It could take a while,” Alphys finishes awkwardly.  _ Time we might not have _ , you fill in.

“Frisk!” Flowey says, vines lashing against the floor. “ _ Answer _ me! What does she  _ mean? _ ” 

You can’t  _ think.  _ You can’t  _ do this _ right now, you can’t  _ stop _ , if you stop it’ll all be over - 

“Not now,” you blurt out at last. The words aren’t coming together right, thoughts still scattered and disjointed. “I’ll -  _ later,  _ okay, Asr-  _ Flowey _ . Later? I’ll explain later. I just have to-” 

“Explain  _ now _ ,” he demands, working himself into a tantrum. 

You shake your head wildly, unable to muster a proper response. The soul still cupped in your hands is the only thing stopping you from digging your nails into your palms, your arms. You need them back, first. This isn’t a discussion you can have alone. You can’t, you  _ can’t.   _

Flowey drags himself closer to you. “I’ll-” he starts, even as you back away, still shaking your head, but then Sans interrupts him. 

“Hey,” he says, deceptively calm. “If Frisk says later, you’ll talk about it later. Give them time.” 

For a moment you think Flowey is going to argue, face morphing towards the same expression he wore when he really, truly hated you, but then the fight drains out of him and he slumps dejectedly. 

“ _ Fine _ ,” he spits, not looking at you anymore. “What _ ever _ .”

You’re sorry, but not sorry enough to be able to pull yourself back together quite yet. 

Breathe. In, out. Eyes on the floor if everything else is too much. Focus. 

“You said, focus point,” your push out in between forcefully steady breaths. “Needs a focus point. Can we give it one?” 

“Uuuuuuuhhhh-”

“It’s not unheard of,” Sans says noncommittally. “Might not be a pleasant experience, though.” 

“ _ I don’t care, _ ” you say. Chara’s soul pulses in your hands. 

You’d do anything, give anything,  _ sacrifice _ anything. 

“Alright then,” Sans says. “Let’s go.” 

 

* * *

 

 

It all comes down to determination. Doesn’t everything, in the end? Chara’s has been stretched too far, and now they’re drifting. You give them some of yours, the way they’ve been lending you theirs all along, you give them an anchor, a line to follow  _ home _ . 

It just needs to be taken out of you first.

The DT extraction machine looms above you. You feel… not  _ fear _ , but definitely  _ apprehension.  _  Alphys seems nervous too, claws skittering across the keyboard. 

“I’m modifying the settings,” she explains. “To accommodate your - height, and weight, and things like that. It used to, um, way back when it was made you could only really…  extract a certain, set amount. Or until there wasn’t any left. But we’ve made some adjustments since then! I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

She doesn’t sound sure.

You can’t bring yourself to have strong feelings about that, either. All you care about right now is Chara.

Now that you’re calmer, when your head isn’t swimming as much, you can  _ feel _ them through their soul. You still can’t  _ hear _ them, but there are clear emotions that aren’t coming from  _ you _ \- pulses of surprise, waves of warmth or grief. Spikes of fear.  

When the soul fades, so do the feelings, but that only reaffirms your belief that they’re  _ there.  _ They’re not gone. You knew they couldn’t be, you  _ knew.  _

“There’s not really anything you can do over here so you can…” says Alphys, gesturing towards the machine. “Go get yourself ready?”

You nod at her and walk up to the machine. 

There’s an oblong platform underneath it, like a bed without the mattress, with some sort of straps around it. To hold you still. It’s hard and uncomfortable when you lie down on it, but it’s just about the right size. With a small margin your feet avoid sticking out over the edge.

The machine does not at all look less intimidating from this angle. 

At least you’re not doing it alone. 

You lay Chara’s soul down on top of your stomach, so it doesn’t cover your chest or where  _ your _ soul is. (At least you’ve always imagined it being in your chest, right where your heart is. But you don’t actually know that for sure, you guess. You could be wrong. Maybe it doesn’t matter?)  

Sans comes over, disrupting your trail of thought. He pitches his voice down low so it doesn’t carry over to Alphys or Flowey. 

“There’s no stopping you on this one, is there?” 

You shake your head decisively. You’re as determined to do this as you’ve ever been to do anything in your whole life. Still, you can’t help but to give him a quizzical look.

_ ‘Why?’  _ you sign. He shrugs, for a moment seeming almost… hesitant. 

“Look, kid,” he says after a while. “Determination’s great and all… but sometimes, you just gotta know when to quit.” His gaze is heavy on your frozen form. You can’t look at him or you’ll scream. “Trust me on this one. Fighting for the impossible will only ever tire you out.”

_ ‘Fighting for the impossible is how I got here _ ,’ you remind him. He chuckles.

“Can’t argue with that one. Just… make sure you know what you’re doing. ‘Kay? I gotta say… the thought of there being no more resets… it’s a nice one, Frisk. You get me?”

_ ‘They won’t reset,’  _ you say.  _ ‘ _ **_We_ ** _ won’t reset.’  _

“I really hope you’re right.”

_ ‘I am,’  _ you sign resolutely. 

“Alright, then,” he says, and then he helps strap you up until you can’t get free on your own anymore, giving your hand a light pat before raising his voice. “Yo, Alphys! Are we ready to fire this thing up?”

“Y-yeah, just, give me a second…” She punches a few more buttons and then grins triumphantly, even though her hands are trembling. “All set!”

Sans backs away from the machine, giving you a thumbs up.

“Ready, Frisk?” Alphys asks. You give her a shaky smile and nod. 

“Okay then,” she says. “It’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be  _ fine. _ I’m gonna start it up in three… two… one… “

You brace for impact.

The world goes white. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact! this used to be a somewhat established theory, no idea if it's still a thing anymore. http://fooshfoosh.tumblr.com/post/140933961071/the-ghost-in-the-machine look i found a tumblr post for it. god that was like a year ago.   
> it's not what i actually believe in for actual game canon (too grim. thought of my baby being stuck powering up a machine is not ok don't touch me i'll cry) but for the purposes of this fic, consider it true 
> 
> see you sometime next week! (if chara cooperates at all. it's time for them to do more things than agonize over everything, chara please, i know you're having a bad time but _focus_ )


End file.
